


Pride & Prejudice & the time of the dreadful illness

by AmyWilldo



Series: Pride & Prejudice and COVID [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 40
Words: 96,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyWilldo/pseuds/AmyWilldo
Summary: Social isolation and the coronavirus cannot defeat Mrs Bennet
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley, Lydia Bennet/George Wickham, Mary Bennet/William Collins
Series: Pride & Prejudice and COVID [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913920
Comments: 163
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm sorry. The plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone.  
> Also, lightly buttered toast.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that despite any misfortune of the time, or risk to good health, a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. 

However little known his health status, let alone his political views, of such a man on entry into a local area health district, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the populace that he is immediately identified, upon clearing quarantine, of course, as the rightful property of one or other of those dwelling in such region.

“Oh! Mr Bennett!” cried the lady of the household one morning to the gentleman, as she read over the well sterilised local morning paper. 

The gentleman in question lowered his copy of the Decameron to peer over at her, with a small amount of pleasure. “You have read something in the press, I dare say, and are intending to tell me news, whether I am interested or no.”

“How ever did you guess,” replied his wife, with a well-practised sigh. “Yes, a family from London has decamped to Netherfield Park. Waiting out the infection, I wager. Whenever that will be. How it preys upon my poor nerves, no one will ever know. I suffer so terribly with them, because of my sensitive nature.”

“Fanny, did you have something more to tell me? I cannot find myself interested in yet another pandemic refugee,” said the gentleman, unmoved, and raising his book once more.

“You are a terrible tease. Why, amongst their number are two young men of large fortune, from the north of England, where so many have suffered. One is a Mr Bingley.”

“And yet, I am unmoved,” responded the gentleman, behind cover of his yellow backed novel.

“Why I married you, I do not know. I am telling you this because they are both single. Single, my dear.”

The gentleman picked up a piece of lightly buttered toast and proceeded to eat.

“Mr Bennett! You must know that I am thinking of our girls! For surely, there are no better looking or healthy and eligible women in all the south of England, and what better match could there be!”

The gentleman finished his toast, and sipped a moderate amount of weak tea. “Fanny. I fancy that this family has come to our district to breathe our fresh country air, and avoid the infected. Not to find a suitable marriage partner.”

“Oh! How can you talk so? We must go and visit. Tis the neighbourly thing to do. And then, do you see, the gentleman will meet our lovely daughters, and a match for two shall be made, and all shall be well!”

The gentleman put both teacup and yellow backed novel down upon the table. 

“Mrs Bennett. As I have said, time and time again. For so long as this epidemic last, we shall not pay a visit, nor shall we receive a visit, from anyone outside the district. Why, ‘tis simple common sense. If they be not infected, then we shall see them in a fortnight’s time and all shall be well, and if it is indeed the case that our daughters catch their eye, as you are so keen to ensure, then a fortnight duration will make no difference. Jane continues as lovely as ever, Miss Lizzy’s eyes will sparkle as vehemently, Mary will be as much herself as she ever is, and the younger two are too young for your machinations.”

The lady of the household put her teacup down with a crash that made the gentleman fear for the china. “In two weeks, Mr Bennett, the Lucases may have visited. You know that they hold the quarantine in contempt. What then for Jane’s loveliness, if Charlotte be seen first? You must visit them, for if you do not, we cannot, and then Charlotte will have the advantage.”

Mr Bennett stood from the breakfast table, and swept crumbs into his hand, as he had done since they dismissed the servants some months earlier, who wished to return to their families for the duration of the sickness. He ignored his wife’s raised eyebrows as he sprinkled them onto the plate, as he had done since that time also. 

“I do think, my dear Fanny, that you should have more faith in our girls. They have become remarkably adept at fending for themselves these eight weeks or more, and I dare say that even with a time advantage, my Lizzy would outshine her friend Charlotte, and no one having seen Jane would remember Charlotte’s face, no matter how kind and sensible she be. Besides, if they do have the ‘virus, such a visit, as I have said to you before, risks us all. No advantage to be had in introductions if all the introduced succumb. Am I understood? There is to be no visit.”

His wife fanned herself with her kerchief, forsaking decorum. Dabbed her face with the napkin, smudging herself with the scarce butter. “You are as obstinate as a bull, Henry. Do stop coughing, Kitty,” she called to the morning room, “or one of the neighbours will think we’re infected.”

“I cannot control my coughs, mama,” called the girl in question. “You know the dust sets me off, and Mary does insist on dusting each room whenever I enter it for she is horrid.”

“Mama!” called the reprimanded Mary. “I only seek to keep the house neat and tidy, for someone must. We do all produce a prodigious amount of skin cells each day, you know. Kitty could choose to be elsewhere.”

“I cannot leave the house without Papa’s leave, as you know, you spiteful harpy,” hissed Kitty. “You could wait to dust until after I leave a room.”

“Or you could pick up a dust cloth and help. For the Bible says that God helps those who help themselves,” retorted Mary, with a vexing tone of piety in her latter sentence.

“Mary, the Bible says no such thing,” said Elizabeth. “The pastor may have said it, but it is in neither the old nor the new. Do try to be accurate in your smugness. And a little less about skin cells while people are eating.”

“I think skin cells are prodigiously horrid,” said Lydia, perching on the table and stealing the last piece of lightly buttered toast from the central plate. “Does the paper say whether the gentlemen are handsome, Mama? Is there a picture? La, you cannot see much beyond the masks they wear in these portraits, can you? Horrid things.”

“It does not matter what they look like, my love,” sighed her mother, declining to reprimand her or rescue either the table or the toast. “For you shall not meet them and your sisters will never marry and your father and I shall die of the illness, and then your dreadful cousin shall turn you from house and home and you will also catch the illness and die.” 

Mrs Bennett ate the last crust of lightly buttered toast from her plate despondently.

“Such a negative outlook. You know very well that we are flattening the curve, for I have explained it to you over and again, Fanny. We shall all, eventually, catch the illness, and the great majority of us shall recover. We all must pass on eventually, and Mr Collins is not so very heartless a Christian pastor that he would turn our girls out. Rather, I fear, they would need to bestir themselves and help in the service of the church, a task to which Mary seems to have turned herself already. Someone or other will marry Jane, I fear not. Do stop your catastrophising. Let us return to the subject of Mr Bingley.” 

“I am not catastrophising, as you well know. Sir Lucas was fearfully ill in London before he came away. And I am sick and tired of your admonishments and sick and tired of Mr Bingley.” 

“Oh,” said her husband. “what a pity. For I have already met Mr Bingley in person, last March, in London when I went up to visit the Gardiners, and we shall not be able to escape his acquaintance without severe rudeness now. A pleasant, if somewhat silly, gentleman. The girls have no need to visit until the quarantine is up.”

His wife threw her napkin down onto the table, and directly into her tea.


	2. In which the Bennetts attend an Assembly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To talk of an Assembly, or even a Ball, not 3 months prior would have been to tempt fate, with the 'virus touching family after family. Now that it has burnt its tithe from Meryton, an Assembly is to be held. Once new visitors have finished their quarantine, they will be welcome to join, should they so choose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even writing about a dance this week is giving me the heebie jeebies. Remember, Amy, this is crack, and these characters AREN'T REAL. Right?
> 
> Also, lightly buttered toast.

Despite the best efforts of the Miss Bennetts, both operating singly and in concert, Mr Bennett remained obstinately close mouthed on the subject of the appearance of the soon to be new member of the Meryton community. When pressed, he recalled only that the gentleman was tall, but not so tall as to be grotesque, with features that were the lot of every man since Adam, and a sense of fashion that was befitting. Nothing, therefore, to be gained there. Kitty spent many a happy morning, with encouragement from Lydia, painting portrait after portrait to no avail, in between those coughs which vexed poor Mrs Bennett so, for Mr Bennett refused to be drawn on the subject. 

From an appropriate social distance, Lady Lucas informed Mrs Bennett that young Mr Bingley was indeed handsome, or as handsome as could be seen from the gate of the estate and the length of the drive, for the Bingleys were not yet emerged from quarantine, and Sir Lucas, after his London health scare and weakened lungs, had forbidden any closer inspection. Furthermore, he had indeed, although with slight uncouth manner, called down the length of the drive that he was very much looking forward to attending upon them at the Meryton Assembly, which would fall on the day after their liberty had been attained. This gave great joy to the younger Miss Bennetts, as to be looking forward to such physical activity indicated that he must be in rude health, and a person to whom to aspire as a dancing partner, let alone a matrimonial one. But, to temper such good news in the eyes of the Miss Bennetts came the bad news that his party contained not one, but six eligible young ladies, such that his promise may have already been bestowed on one of their number, or indeed upon the other gentleman who had not been observed in any way. The younger Bennetts in particular were much displeased, and Kitty ceased henceforth to ply her artistic talents, such as they were, in pursuit of capturing any likeness of such a gentleman, for she had, so she said, better subjects to observe. Upon which she proceeded to remove her person to the pigsty, and commence a sketch.

Hopes dashed, the Miss Bennetts prepared for the Meryton Assembly as they would any other, with dancing shoes repaired, gloves and masks freshly washed, and hems tested against clumsy partners, for despite the social distancing rules, it was not unheard of for ones partner to stumble, almost as if it were on purpose, to takes ones measure. In fact, Lydia had been known to trip her partners to contrive such a circumstance, despite Jane’s best efforts. Bodices tied, and hair appropriately tethered, masks and gloves donned, the girls trooped about the room, at a socially acceptable distance, scattering to the corners to talk over with Maria Lucas went Kitty and Lydia, and to another corner with Charlotte Lucas went Elizabeth and Jane, and to the piano went Mary, who knew well her duties in accompanying the fiddlers, and to the punch bowl went Mrs Bennett, despite Mr Bennett’s kind reminder, as he pressed lightly buttered toast upon her at the door of Longbourn, and a stern word about hygiene and shared utensils. 

Thus it was that Kitty and Lydia were dancing, gloved hand in gloved hand of the young men of Meryton, in a way that would have been shockingly transgressive not one month prior, at the height of the ‘virus, and Mary wiping sweat from well worked brow as she played yet another reel at the behest of the fiddle crew, and Jane serenely watching over Charlotte and Elizabeth’s amused observations of the dancing form of those on the floor when the front door of the Assembly Hall swung to, and several persons appeared. 

The fiddlers stopped, one after another, as if candles snuffed in turn, and Mary stumbled to a halt also. The dancers turned, as one, to face the front door. All of Meryton, therefore, formed their first impressions of the new Netherfield residents as one.

A most elegant female, with elaborately coiffured dark hair, from which enchanting peacock feathers emerged, and perfectly quizzical eyebrows raised above the embroidered silk of her mask, cunningly stitched with a matching peacock design, carried down into the details of her almost purple gown, scanned them all right back. Lowered her perfectly blackened eyelashes and turned to make a no doubt cutting remark to her almost as elegant female companion, who held the arm of a gentleman who was clearly already merry, from the pink of his nose showing through his plain thin mask to the scuff of his terribly expensive boots. But to the other side, ah, what a sight for the Assembly to satisfy all curiosities. The one gentleman, adorned with golden hair which had clearly at one point been brushed flat, only to resist and bounce back up again, as if the fellow beneath them was yet in the school yard, and clearly smiling eyes over his plain blue mask, matching his dark blue jacket, and well turned legs. The other, dark to his light, with hair longer and straighter, neatly tied behind in a queue, taller by a half foot than his companion, and broader in the shoulder, clearly straining the excellent cut of his black coat, styled for riding. Above his dark mask, his eyes frowned, with a crease betwixt them as if the company was not to his taste, or he had a headache, an early sign of the ‘virus. The company peered about in vain to discover any other addition to the party, and the hubbub grew once more with discussion of the same. At length, the fiddlers set to, and Mary once more supplied the accompaniment, and dancers once again bestrode the boards.

To the delight of Mrs Bennett, Mr Bennett’s London visit paid fruit, and Mr Bingley, at length, approached, with the others of his party. He was everything amiable and courteous, and Mrs Bennett reciprocated in kind, for her. She learnt that he had no head for books, but a great head for numbers, and had, by dint of being in the right place during the terrible times in London, and in the right profession, that of the trade of fabric and soap, and supply of the same to the hospitals, had the tremendous good fortune to be helpful to many, or so his sister was at pains to explain, and he at the same pain to downplay. A gentleman of health, looks, fortune, and good manners was, or so Mrs Bennett was at equal pains to detail to him, a prize indeed, and should value himself for what he was worth. She was no less prompt to present him to her daughters, saving Mary of course, but it was clear that his eyes, soft and tender above the mask, had been taken by Jane, whose face had taken on the same hue as her own pale pink mask, and his white gloved hand took hers, and they fell into the throng of socially distant dancers. While Mr Bingley had introduced his most elegant sister Miss Caroline Bingley, his slightly less so married sister Mrs Hurst in a gown most fetchingly enhanced with lace, her hiccupping companion husband, and his most interesting friend, a Mr Darcy, none of his companions delighted in quite the same way. Miss Bingley would not be drawn on any subject, not that of the music, or the state that Netherfield had been in, nor the composition of the hall. Mrs Hurst clearly took her cues from her sister, and spent more time examining the back of her gloves and adjusting their fit, and Mr Hurst’s object of interest was the punchbowl at the other end of the hall. Mr Darcy’s black gloved hands remained firmly behind his back, and he nodded in the manner of one used to town life, and the need to minimise contact. Nor did his eyes linger overlong on the faces of any of the remaining Miss Bennett’s to be had, or even, truth be told, meet them. On Mr Bingley taking his chosen partner to the floor, Mr Darcy made his apologies, and retreated with the remainder of the party, where Mr Hurst proceeded with some small haste to the punchbowl, the Bingley sisters to stand in a decorative manner next a balustrade, and Mr Darcy, after asking Miss Bingley for form’s sake if she would take the floor, and being politely refused with an eye roll, to pace the length of the hall, always remaining at a socially appropriate distance. 

Intermittently, the Miss Bennetts formed part of that dancing throng, although never all at once, for gentlemen were indeed scarce this season, following the decimation not 3 months earlier. Mr Bingley danced with them all in turn, stepping on the toes of each, and slightly tearing Kitty’s dress, for she would dance closer than form required, even though it was clear from the collective Bennett toes that the gentleman was unfamiliar with the dances in question. Despite such injury, his generosity of spirit won the approval of all, and from Jane’s eyes above her pink mask, her approval most of all. On appeal, the gentleman in question even conceded to Kitty that before too long, he would host a ball at Netherfield.

By contrast, his friend Mr Darcy seemed, or so it appeared to Elizabeth in her ample time of observation due to the lack of partners, to be taking pains to do the opposite. He continued to move through the crowds, almost in the manner of a sea creature riding the waves, with the object of avoiding any approach, any contact. From time to time, he would fetch the Bingley sister, neglected by brother and husband alike, glasses of punch, but did not partake himself, and was at pains to ensure that no drop spilt upon his person in the carrying of it. He took the dancefloor with no one, and declined Mr Bingley’s offer to find him partners. Why, she even heard one of the conversations in question, though it gave her no joy to do so, and she had been far better recalling the maxim that eavesdroppers only hear ill.

“Come Darcy,” said the amiable one, “Take a turn on the floor. You know very well the area is free of contagion, and all are masked. Your gloves will be washed on the morrow. Your caution is quite unnecessary, and I hate to see you pace in this stupid manner. You had much better dance, for heaven knows if you return to London when you will next find the opportunity.”

“I certainly shall not. You know me to be a man of sense, who takes risks when I see them necessary or the outcome desirable. Your sisters are the only women in the room who would not put me at risk, and they have sensibly refused. You know, Bingley, my reasons. Your reasons are quite different. Besides, your chosen partner is the only girl in the room who compares with those in town this last season. Why punish myself in the country when I would not step forward for the same in town?”

“Miss Bennett is quite the most beautiful creature I ever laid eyes on, or so I expect she would be, were it not for these masks. Did you note, her mask is of our fabric? I cannot but think her lovely. But her sisters, too, are all lightfooted, and I dare say most agreeable dancing partners. Do let me entreat one on your behalf.”

“You grow tiresome,” Mr Darcy was heard to say, and to her dismay, Elizabeth felt his gaze upon her person, and flushed from head to toe almost as if a live coal had tumbled from an unguarded fireplace and onto her foot. Both his eyebrow rose, and he withdrew his gaze, once more turning to fasten upon Mr Bingley. “From what I can discern, tolerable enough, but a pair of fine eyes is not enough to tempt me to forget myself. You had better return to Miss Bennett and enjoy her company, for such is your choice, as you are wasting your breath with me.”

On Mr Bingley’s willing retreat once more to her sister, Elizabeth found herself once more the subject of an appraisal, but this of her mother, as Mr Darcy removed himself to the Bingley sisters once more, to pace more circumspectly. Elizabeth bore her inquisition with good humour, and relayed to her mother, and Charlotte, who had worn a hole in a dancing slipper, that at least her eyes were considered fine, if not sufficient to tempt a gentleman to ill health. Eliza and Charlotte laughed in a most indecorous way, not that, in the general commotion of the hall, this was of significance. 

The evening concluded, the Bennett girls were in general well pleased with events. Mary had been complimented at length by the fiddlers for her fine playing, and brought punch by all of them, and was consequently in fine form. Jane was radiant in her smiles, once the masks had been removed at home and could be seen, and Mrs Bennett gratified by them. Lydia and Kitty had danced holes in both slippers, and developed tendernesses towards all manner of dancing partners, but fortunately not the same ones, and Eliza had a fine story to tell her papa, once he could be stirred from his new yellowback. All declared the Bingley sisters the most elegant women they had ever beheld, Mr Bingley the most charming gentleman and Mr Darcy the most disagreeable in preferring his own company to that of the assembly. Even in the current times.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before

In the morning, after a fine repast of lightly buttered toast, with a small scraping of jam, for not every day’s rations can be plain without monotony, the gentleman of Longbourn having retired to his study to puzzle out the accounts, and allot sums for the tenant farmers of the estate, who were to thank for the butter being so lightly scraped, after all, the ladies of Longbourn likewise adjourned to the sitting room, ostensibly to darn socks, repair gloves and knit replacement masks, but in reality, to dissect the evening before. For not every Assembly was blessed with fresh subjects to consider.

Allowing Mrs Bennett to rehearse over with Kitty and Lydia the frocks and furbelows of the gathered, and most especially the most refined Miss Bingley, with Mary watching reproachfully over them like a vulture equipped with darning needle and thread, Jane and Elizabeth retired to the small table by the east window, with the best view over the hills beyond. That the view was towards Netherfield had been the subject of earlier light teasing by Lydia, yet Jane preferred it still for this conversation, and Elizabeth noted her looking across the green with a pleasant smile. 

“Ah! Lizzy, I do confess, I found him a most agreeable partner. He was just what a young man ought to be in his manners, never touching but sufficiently close so as to be intimate, respectful of my person in escorting me to the punch bowl but allowing me to take the glass myself, and only then pouring himself one. And did you note how patient he was with Mama? I cannot think of a single other gentleman in all of Meryton who would have borne her twitting for his humble manner. No, I think him likely the most genteel young man I have ever, or am likely to ever in the current climate, likely to meet.” With that pronouncement, Jane sighed, and turned once more to the window, where still could only be seen the green grass, lightly moving in the breeze.

“Indeed, he was also, so I believe in your eyes, not that you will say it, so I shall, the most handsome gentleman you have ever met. Or at least, the parts that were able to be glimpsed about the mask. Is it not so?” Elizabeth nudged the table slightly with her foot, and yet Jane did not stir.

“I was very pleased to find myself in his company for quite so many dances. I did not expect to be so complimented,” Jane said, tracing the pattern of the table with a finger. 

“And who else should he favour in the village of Meryton but the prettiest? Mind you, you do have some stitching to repair on your dress, for although he may be the most genteel, and the most handsome, he appears not to be the most lightfooted. But I give you leave to like him, for feet repair themselves, and you have liked many a stupider person. He has money enough to buy you many more dresses than he rips.”

“Sister! Let us not ape our mother’s fine example and put the harvest before the season. I hardly know him after one evening.”

“True enough. For example, it would do you well to know better those most elegant sisters. You know very well that our dear Mama would not countenance such stand offish behaviour in our ranks, but I dare say that with a family as well situated as theirs, they can set their own standards. Such as they are. Silk masks indeed. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”

“Oh Lizzy! You cannot be so quick, so harsh, to judge. I dare say instead that should I had the opportunity of making their better acquaintance, I should come to find them very genteel also.” 

“But not, perhaps, quite as pleasing company as their handsome brother?” Elizabeth beheld her sister with a quizzical brow, and did, indeed, see a light blush arise on her cheeks, for no mask was needed in household now. 

“I am sorry that Mr Darcy was quite so rude to you. Perhaps he was not aware how loudly he was speaking.” Jane reached a hand across the table to her sister, and with equal bravery her sister grasped it with hers. Such a thing had fallen from fashion during the peak of the ‘virus, even within households such as theirs. Elizabeth treasured the warmth of Jane’s hand, and the strength of her clasp.

“Nay, ‘tis not to be considered. If I am extraordinarily lucky, I will receive another such backhanded compliment from him, in such a fashion, if we are in the same room again. Perhaps he will criticise my manners, should he notice them, and in the same breath, praise my dashing eyebrows, or such other nonsense. No, I had no expectations of catching any attention, and this kind of attention I most certainly can do without.” Elizabeth released her sister’s hand, and discreetly wiped her own upon the lap of her gown. “I do miss my dear Charlotte, for she would have had some witty comment to make about his person, whereas you, most properly, do not. By the time I see her next, I declare that I shall be quite over this, and Mr Darcy shall be forgotten.” 

“What’s that you say, Lizzy? Mr Darcy?” quizzed Mrs Bennett. “Do not speak of the man, he makes me ill. Not to dance with my girls? Why bother attending the Assembly at all? Such a proud, disagreeable man.” She viciously stabbed the sewing mushroom with her darning needle, as if ‘twere a charmed poppet with which she could cause harm to Mr Darcy’s person in his most English parts. 

Mary took an intake of breath. “Mother, Mr Darcy is quite right to be cautious. Although he has observed our quarantine, he knows not how safe we are as a county. Yet, I cannot but agree that if he is taking such care because he is proud to be ‘virus free, then such a stance is morally corrupt. As we well know, even here, the ‘virus cares little how cautious you be, and even those who were the most cautious were afflicted. Such pride, if it is for that, is wrong indeed.”

“To be perfectly frank, Mary,” declared Elizabeth. “I had not analysed his motives so deeply as you. Rather, I know that I could forgive such pride, had he not mortified mine.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions are solidified

The Netherfield party privately declared themselves fond of the country, the people and the house, in that order. The country was altogether attractive to the Bingley party, long isolated in their London townhouse, with limited views of the outside world, and air that had been breathed out by countless other London dwellers before it reached their front door. To be surrounded by green rolling fields, rather than bricks and mortar could not but be charming. The house itself was sufficiently expansive that a person could go a morning without speaking to any other member of their party, and each delighted in that luxury, not the least the Bingley servants, whose patience had been somewhat tried during the duration of the settle in place order of the London mayor. As for the people, each of the party had found their own observations most worth noting, as is so often the case, for one’s own opinion must always be given most weight. 

Miss Bingley had noted the drab, worn, dresses, with telltale signs of being frayed at the hems, and the inferior quality of the fabric, when compared to that offered by the Bingleys, to merchants throughout London and the shires. Noted it, nay, she had delighted in it. In this county, at least, she had no competitors. It had been a difficult season in town, with few opportunities to collect admiration. She was woman enough to admit it, even if only to herself, and herself alone, but half the delight that she collected from her gowns, her adornments, was the admiration offered by the community at large. For the last several months, her community had been limited indeed to those with whom she shared the Netherfield estate at present, and she knew intimately their reaction to each and every dress, every headpiece, every cunning shoe, and fan, and furbelow. She knew their conversation, down to the last mannerism. Her brother’s overeagerness to laugh and be pleased. Her sister’s tolerance of her husband’s taste in wine, which bore a strong correlation to the alcohol content present. Mr Darcy’s reluctance to enter conversation, at all, and insistence on letter writing, as if he could control the outcome of the outbreak by expressing his wish that it be so in correspondence to the journals of the country, to his sister and aunt, to his tenant farmers, and or so it seemed, anyone with a post box to their name in London. In other seasons, she would have resented her brother’s wholesale removal of their household to the country, and complained bitterly about the lack of society, and uncouth manners of the populace, and sneered at their lack of sophistication. Now, she was eager for it. 

It had become a habit of hers to attend the village, peacock mask firmly in place, and matching blue elbow length gloves, and carefully arranged hair, on the arm of her sister the slightly less delighted Mrs Hurst, to take the air at a careful distance, and she had noted the admiring glances. From such, she had happened to encounter the elder Miss Bingleys, and exchanged pleasantries, and been introduced to their good friend Miss Lucas, the older, and many a peaceful morning had been spent in exchanging cordialities while enjoying the fresh air and sunshine in a manner which her brother had frowned upon in town. Miss Lucas, her elder by four years or so she estimated, was most pleasing in offering compliments, and sensible questions about how town had been before the outbreak and after it, and her knowledge about the outbreak and the impact on town, which caused her to examine what it was that she actually thought about such things, where previously she had not. Miss Bennett the elder was less voluble in her conversation, and the questions that she asked, when she asked them, largely directed to information about the impact upon her brother, and Mr Bingley was not an interesting subject on which to dwell for his sister. Miss Bennett the younger offered less compliments than either two of her companions, and was a little too inclined to offer her own opinion on subjects of little interest to Miss Bingley, as being too far outside her realm, speculation over war with the American colonies, the behaviour of the French in combat, the proper diet to fatten a pig, and whether novels would indeed rot a sensible mind. On the colour of ribbons to match a dress, however, there was common ground, and they would take turns in entry to the milliners to purchase the same and compare their purchases by the store window in natural light. Of the three, therefore, while all were pleasant companions, Miss Lucas became her favourite.

Mr Bingley had selected the estate of Netherfield for its grounds in particular, and he was not disappointed in his selection. London had become incredibly dull during the months of confinement while the ‘virus ran its course, and the townhouse in which they resided had become well trodden, as he paced its length. He had missed Mr Darcy, his chief advisor, friend and confidant, who had repaired to the country to manage his estate and care for his tenant farmers, and had long wearied of the initial joy he felt in having the responsibility in his father’s stead of managing their affairs. His father had died not six months before the ‘virus first reached England’s shores, after a brief introduction into the management of the family fabric trade, and he had rather relied upon Mr Darcy in the way in which Mr Bingley assumed his father’s mantle, as Mr Darcy had suffered a similar fate not two years prior. Mr Bingley had barely felt in control of the normal running of the mills and the management of his workforce when the ‘virus had hit, and demand for fabric had risen exponentially. Now, Mr Bingley had had to contend with the diametrically opposing forces of keeping the mills open and productive at a time when his workforce had been most at risk, and felt himself to be astride a horse that would not and could not be allowed to stop. Mills had had to be retooled, with concomitant expense, to ensure that workers remained at a safe distance, and equipment could be wiped down with high proof alcohol between shifts, for the mills ran at full speed day and night to keep demand satisfied. Foremen had had to be replaced, as the ‘virus hit towns, and workforce morale maintained, but ‘twas all for a noble cause, of ensuring that those most in need, attending on the swelling hospitals and poorhouses to minister to the ill, could be to the extent possible, protected by the finest woven fabric that he could muster, and the workforce knew well how important the work was. Mr Bingley had taken every pain to protect those who worked for him, compared to other factories, ensuring his workforce were of an age to work, of health to work and had food to keep them so, and all the protections that could be built into the machinery had been added, as such had not by his father, used to a more leisurely pace of manufacture. He had even, by dint of the sheer volume of fabric sold, turned enough profit to pay his workers bonuses. Mr Bingley prided himself that no happier band of workers existed throughout England, and therefore the world. However, the months of confinement in town, punctuated only by visits to the mills to provide solace and inspection to his workers, had lead to a situation in which Mr Bingley could not honestly recall the last time that he had slept a night through, nor had a conversation with an eligible pretty girl, or rode a horse for pleasure, rather than a mode of transportation from point A to point B. His foremen, at each of the mills, had expressed concern that having looked after his people so well, Mr Bingley had neglected his own person. Each, to a man, had offered that as the height of the ‘virus had ebbed, and the workforce well satisfied and stable in production to meet demand, that Mr Bingley take leave of absence for a time, to a part of the country with no mills to inspect, and no workers to care for, and remember what it was like to be young and carefree. Mr Bingley congratulated himself that within a short time, he had succeeded in starting that process, for the pheasants had been neglected for shooting and were plentiful, and the ladies he had met at Meryton, Miss Bennett in particular, were most charming, and he had managed on a number of days, to put aside his sheets of numbers relevant to each mill, each customer, and projected supply and demand needs for a number of the daylight hours while inside. Indeed, his sisters had teased him that he should in fact hold a ball, now that he was less beset with work, and he was half inclined to agree. 

Mr Darcy and he had ridden on occasion to the town of Meryton, but were less inclined than the female members of their party to find it of such interest. They attended, for the Bingley sisters sake as a matter of form, the lunch parties and teas to which Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were invited, although Mr Hurst did not. At each of those lunch parties and teas, appeared the sisters Bennett, all, and the sisters Lucas, both, as well as many other young ladies and gentlemen of varying social stations, and with varying degree of personal protective equipment donned, and varying degree of spacing allowed. The first such occasion, an informal lunch party at Sir William Lucas’ estate, when someone sought to hand Mr Darcy a plate, he refused it, with gloved hands firmly clasped behind his back, and a firm steely eyed stare at the person who had had the audacity to offer it. Sir Lucas, at an appropriate distance, was at pains to assure both Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley, and the sisters behind them that the village of Meryton had been ‘virus free for over a month, and that the plates had all been, nonetheless well washed in soapy piping hot water, observed by himself, and that he was fastidious concerning such matters, having recovered from a bout himself in the early stages of the epidemic. 

On Mr Darcy’s curt nod, the Bingley party had partaken of the luncheon, although Mr Bingley confessed later to Mr Darcy that to do so had given him the collywobbles, although it was not discernable to anyone at the time. The group removed to tables to so partake, removing masks to do so. On careful observation, the Bennett girls were confirmed as not only charming in manner, but charming in face, the eldest in particular in Mr Bingley’s estimation.

“A face like a Botticelli angel, Darcy. Don’t you think, Caroline, Louisa?”

The sisters thus addressed turned as one to look, despite Mr Bingley’s protestations. Jane’s blond hair was indeed catching the sun in a most attractive manner, her smile beatific, and her eyes a pale blue. At present, she was listening to her more vivacious younger sisters Lydia and Kitty, the former gesticulating with a sandwich held in her bare hands, and the later staining her gloves with slices of orange, both with their brown hair tamed and curled about their faces in a style that had last been seen in town not two years prior. Mary, in a demure gown, and a stiff back, blond hair in a neat bun and eyes on her plate, chair pushed back from the table, almost as if she would leave if she could, listening to Charlotte and Elizabeth earnestly debate something in voices too appropriately pitched to be heard. Charlotte in sensible muslin, with her red hair parted in the middle and two buns behind her ears in a fashion that should not have been flattering, and was not in truth, from time to time glancing over at their table, and meeting the eyes of Caroline with a slight smile that meant it did not matter. Elizabeth from time to time glancing over at their table without the smile, but long enough to confirm to Darcy that the rest of her face in addition to her eye was equally as bewitching, with a snub nose, and a pert chin, and brown hair with amusing waves about her brow, and for long enough for Elizabeth to catch him looking and convert the frown into a slight amused twitch of her lips, and for long enough for Darcy to confirm to himself that he should be paying less attention to the ladies of Meryton and more to those of his own party, who were even then expressing the view that Jane was a dear, and they should desire to know more of her, and the elder Lucas girl. 

The Bennett ladies were, in point of fact discussing whether it would be better for Jane to provide Mr Bingley with some more evident sign of her regard for him, or whether to do such would be unseemly, with Lydia and Kitty on the sign of the regard, and Charlotte and Mary on the side of the seemly, and Elizabeth and Jane remaining to be persuaded. By way of diversion, intermittently Charlotte would introduce the topic of Miss Bingley and her charming gowns, and the table would pause, and turn, and observe the Bingley party, which would lead to the further topic of Mr Darcy. On Mr Darcy, the table was again divided. On the one side, Kitty and Lydia were again in favour, for his looks were fine, with his dark hair in volume, and his broad shoulders and finely turned leg did fill out a pair of trousers to great effect, and although not as rich as Mr Bingley, not since the ‘virus had added to that gentleman’s ledgers, he was still a man of considerable wealth. Mary, too, was inclined towards approval, for his manner and reticence to involve himself in the general hubbub were something that lady felt recommended a gentleman, rather than detracted from his appeal. Jane and Charlotte were uncertain, for they were disinclined to approve of any gentleman who held himself apart from the risk that all had determined was sufficiently low enough to share. Finally, Elizabeth made up the votes against, for it would be unreasonable to ask that lady to set aside his snub at the Meryton Assembly, and for the time being, she was disinclined to do so. From that moment on, the party was set. Mr Bingley was to be encouraged, as must as Jane was able to persuade herself to do so, and Mr Darcy was to be snubbed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ladies lunch

The ladies of Netherfield having graced the parlour of Longbourn, and even been so gracious as to admire the wallpaper, newly laid during the period of quarantine due to Mrs Bennett’s need for occupation, and the design of Miss Kitty, the ladies of Longbourn had had the opportunity to take tea, gloved, naturally, at Netherfield. Mrs Bennett greatly admired Longbourn’s curtains, which Miss Bingley had had replaced with Bingley fabric, in fine navy blue with gold piping, and Miss Bingley courteously offered her the use of the old drapery, if the local hospital did not claim it first. While Mrs Bennett gladly thanked her, and spoke at home of her fine condescension, Elizabeth was less inclined to ascribe such fine motives, for she had seen Miss Bingley’s lips twitch as her mother felt the navy blue, and heard Mrs Hurst stifle a laugh with a cough, causing all some consternation until she explained to the concerned party that she suffered only from seasonal allergies. Elizabeth noted, too, the thickness of the butter on the toast offered the party, and privately judged the Bingleys for it, while also noting that Lydia had had three helpings, to the rest of the party’s two, and despairing for her gloves, now stained. On Mrs Bennett’s enquiring as to the whereabouts of the gentlemen, Miss Bingley was pleased, or so Elizabeth fancied, to inform them all that they were riding the grounds, now that they were at liberty to do so, and were not expected until late evening. She also fancied a faint sigh from her sister, under the complaints of her mother that she had hoped to ask Mr Bingley to tea. Mrs Bennett observed that as the militia were now encamped at Meryton for the duration, perhaps Netherfield could now host a ball in their honour, and Miss Bingley demurred, on the basis that she should not like to commit her brother, nor should the militia be invited to attend any such balls until they had been in the region at least a fortnight, for prudence. Mrs Bennett then made more cheerful observations about the silverware, and the furnishings, until Elizabeth began to feel that her mother was cataloguing the interior, but both parties seemed well satisfied with the exchange.   
The next morning, a letter was delivered, and after it had been duly sterilised, Mrs Bennett was surprised to find it a note addressed directly from Miss Bingley to the eldest Miss Bennett. Despite Miss Bennett having perfectly well mastered the arts of both writing and reading some time earlier, Mrs Bennett insisted on reading it to the entire breakfast party, as they broke their fast with lightly buttered toast. 

“Dear Friend,” she read. “I declare, Jane, that is a very promising beginning. It is not every one, I dare say, who the most elegant Caroline addresses as friend. Such elegant handwriting too, although it has been smudged by the soaping it had to receive. Such a nonsense.”

“Mama, do go on,” encouraged Jane. “Surely she has not written solely to call me so.”

Elizabeth smiled at her toast.

“I beseech your company, for my brother and his friend are again riding the hills,” she read. “Oh, that is a shame. Not the company, of course, but Mr Bingley would have been very happy, I am sure, to see you, Jane.”

Jane did not respond.

“If Louisa and I must share another repast without fresh company, I do not know that we shall both survive the day. Save one or other of us from a terrible sin. Yours ever, and so on,” Mrs Bennett continued. “Well, that is something, at least.”

“Mama, may I take the carriage? The skies are overcast, and rain is likely.” Jane smiled her most winning smile.

Mrs Bennett considered. “No. No, you must go by horse. Yes, that is much better. Mr Bingley likes riding, it is evident, and if it rains, why, you may just need to stay longer at Netherfield. Which may mean that you will encounter Mr Bingley. What a delightful surprise that would be for him!”

Jane sighed, and looked at her lightly buttered toast. “It seems almost conniving, Mama. I should not like to think that I was seeking to ensnare Mr Bingley. I do enjoy Miss Bingley’s company and I wish to attend for her sake.”

Mrs Bennett patted her other hand. “Of course you do, dear, that’s right. Now go and get changed. The light blue will match those curtains the best.”

Later that morning, as the rain streamed down the Longbourn windowpanes, there was a quiet air of smugness as Mrs Bennett stabbed at her needlepoint, and an air of resignation as Elizabeth darned her stockings, silently musing on how Miss Caroline Bingley likely never wore the same pair of stockings twice.

Later still that afternoon, as the rain continued to pour, Mr Bennett concluded that Jane would not be returning to Longbourn until the morning, when he predicted the rain would cease. Lydia expressed herself most jealous that Jane should have such an opportunity to stay in such a fine house, and dine on fine food and sleep in a fine bed, and that Jane was too quiet to make good use of such an opportunity, and so on until Elizabeth told her to hold her tongue.

In the morning, Jane did not appear on the brown mare from whence she had gone. Rather, the same messenger appeared on his horse, leading Jane's brown mare, with a note from Jane. Mrs Bennett reached for it, but Elizabeth was quicker

“Dear Lizzy,” she read quickly,” do not concern yourself too much. Mr Bingley insists that I stay until I am well again.”

There was a collective intake of breath around the table and Elizabeth flapped her hand at them, and they hushed.

“Apart from a sore throat, and a dry cough, and a slight fever and a headache, there is nothing terribly wrong with me.” Elizabeth continued.

“Oh my sweet Jane,” gasped Mrs Bennett. “Tis the ‘virus.”

Mary placed her fork and knife closely together, and aligned her teacup with the handle precisely at forty five degrees. “Mama, Jane is a sensible person. If she thought she had the ‘virus, she would have written to say that. Nay, the Bingleys would have written. There are many other strains of cold and the ‘flu with which she may have come into contact.”

“May I continue?” asked Elizabeth. She straightened the note in her hands, wondering whether, it having not been sterilised on delivery, it carried the ‘virus. If ‘virus it was that had Jane in its grasp. Whether she was touching the ‘virus even now. She straightened the note again and willed her hands still.

“The Bingleys have called a doctor for me, and placed me in a comfortable room, with all the conveniences, and a window from which one can see the fields. If you should come with some clothes I am sure I should not want for anything. Yours, Jane.” She folded the note and put it in her pocket. “Excuse me at once, Mama.”

Not waiting for her mother to reply, she continued immediately to the bathroom, where she washed her hands for the duration of Lady MacBeth’s speech, ignoring the clamouring of her two youngest sisters, insisting that they select Jane’s most flattering clothes for her stay, and her middle sister pressing upon her a jar of Jane’s favourite honey from Mary’s own hives, to ease her throat, and her mother exclaiming about health, and her daughter, and waste of her beauty, for no one ever washed hands properly in such clamour. Packing, she allowed some assistance from Lydia for dress, Kitty for masks, gloves and stockings, and her mother for undergarments, and one jar of Mary’s special honey. 

However, then she hit a key difficulty. The carriage and horses had been taken by her father to town, who had business to transact and merchants with whom to conclude. She could not very well carry the luggage herself. She therefore determined to leave the luggage to be sent to Netherfield, and to depart on foot, the sooner to see her sister for herself.


	6. Chapter 6

Miss Elizabeth Bennett prided herself as one of the most swift walkers in the county, but even she had her limits, and the mud between Longbourn and Netherfield was one of those hard limits. With no direct road, other than that through the village centre of Meryton, she had no alternative but to stride, cross country, through mud ridden paddock after mud ridden paddock, complete with indifferent cows. With each paddock, no matter her resolve and no matter her attention to her skirt, the mud snagged her nonetheless. With the mud, she lost time, and gained frustration. Such that when Miss Elizabeth Bennett arrived at the gates of Netherfield, she was half mud and half angry woman, and cared not one bit whether anyone discerned this to be the case, although she did, for sake of form, spend a minute or two in seeking to scrub her boots, at least, although she determined that her dress and petticoat were a lost cause, and was not gratified to feel her assessment reflected in the footman’s demeanour as he escorted her to a washroom so that she could avail herself of all appropriate facilities and remove her protective garments. 

“Ah. Miss Elizabeth. How delightful to see you!” exclaimed Mr Bingley, as her mud streaked person entered the drawing room. 

“Yes. Delightful.” Said his sisters, with slightly less enthusiasm, and Elizabeth felt the drag of the mud on her petticoats most acutely. 

Mr Darcy and Mr Hurst, having risen from their seats upon her entry, resumed them once more.

“Forgive me,” began Mr Darcy,” but was your sister ill before she left home yesterday, Miss Bennett? She seems very ill for this to have come on quite so suddenly.”

Elizabeth inhaled deeply. “Good morning Mr Darcy. I am well, thank you, as was my sister when she left home. Do you think that had she been ill, she would have left yesterday for Netherfield? I assure you that Jane is possessed of more common sense than that, and I dislike your implication. Mr Bingley,” she went on, forestalling Mr Darcy’s response, “if I could visit my sister, perhaps? If you agree, I would be very grateful if we could postpone polite formalities.”

Miss Bingley sniffed into her tea, to a cutting look by Mr Darcy.

“Of course, Miss Bennett. I do apologise, I should have had you taken to her immediately. There is nothing worse than concern for a loved one’s health. I assure you, every precaution that can be taken, has been taken, as if she were a family member of my own,” said Mr Bingley.

“Thank you,” smiled Elizabeth warmly at him. She did not deign to look at Mr Darcy, or the Bingley sisters as she left the room in company of the footman again, mud and all. It was a mere matter of   
minutes to redon her protective garments and reach Jane’s room, in a wing she noted as being devoid of any other sign of occupation. 

Even knowing it was her sister, and that she had travelled to Netherfield for this very reason, she paused at the threshold of Jane’s sick room, using the excuse of adjusting her personal protective equipment for a final time, which she did until her nerves had settled. 

Her sister lay quietly asleep on her sickbed, a far cry from the tossing and turning and dry coughing that Elizabeth had in truth expected. When touched her gloved hand to her forehead, it was indeed unduly warm, but not the burning heat that she feared. Her action woke her sister, who emerged from her slumbers with a start, and a cough. 

“Elizabeth,” she said quietly, before another cough took her, and she was forced to bring a handkerchief to her mouth.

“Do not speak, dearest, if it brings the cough on. I am here now and all shall be well.”

Jane’s eyes over the handkerchief were more pointed than Elizabeth had expected.

“Dear Elizabeth,” said she. “I appreciate this very much, but I wonder if it would not be too much to ask why it is that you smell so terribly strongly of the farmyard?” 

With that, Elizabeth’s spirits lifted, as no case of the ‘virus in the county had ever left a patient with the sense of smell retained. Whatever this was, it was not the ‘virus, and her sister would recover.

The sisters spent the morning together, until Mr Bingley himself appeared at the door to summon Elizabeth to luncheon. Elizabeth allowed herself to be retrieved, noting with pleasure that above his mask, his eyes had softened as he looked on her sister, and hers likewise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know that cloth masks and gloves may not actually in real life be effective - but let's say that in the P&P world, they might be. Likewise, let's say that in the P&P world, all COVID patients lose their sense of smell. Thank you for your suspension of belief. Have some lightly buttered toast.


	7. A stay at Netherfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is ill, but it is not the 'virus.

The table was set with food for a party of ten, although they were only six, a full roast haunch of lamb, cooled sorrel soup, well crisped potatoes, and candied carrots, with a lightly tossed green salad and fine white bread. Miss Caroline picked at her food listlessly, while Mr Hurst helped himself to a large quantity of all before him, including the wine that no one else seemed to notice. There was no lightly buttered toast to be had, but Elizabeth found the soup to be excellent, and said so.

“I suppose that you have dined at home, for the main, for the duration,” remarked Caroline.

Elizabeth, who had been still relatively hungry, having sampled only the soup, found her appetite congeal in her stomach. “Yes, that is quite correct. For the duration, we bade our servants return to their homes, if they would, and we have fared for ourselves. It had also not been the custom of the county to continue to patronise the tea houses and taverns, although for the sake of maintaining their business, many established services where if you so wished, kegs of fine ale, and so on, would be delivered to your estate. You keep a far better table than we can manage.”

“You are well welcome to our hospitality, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr Bingley, urging a bread roll upon her. “I trust that in fullness of time, your table too will be as it once was.”

“I am sure that no one judges you for it,” said Caroline, with an ill concealed smirk. “It cannot be expected that standards can be maintained during a pandemic of this nature, let alone in the country. If you like, we can assist you with the loan of a servant or two. Yes, brother?”

Mr Hurst helped himself a third time to crisped potatoes, and another slice of roast. Mrs Hurst sipped from his wine glass while he was occupied. Mr Darcy exchanged a glance with Mr Bingley.

“If all are quite finished,” said Mr Bingley, “I suggest we retire to the drawing room once more. I do have some letters to write, to ensure those standards you care for so dearly, Caroline, are maintained. Darcy, if I am not mistaken you had intended to correspond with your estate.”

“You are quite right Charles. If the ladies will release us.” Darcy said curtly, not looking at any of the ladies in question.

Miss Bingley inclined her head. Mrs Hurst waved her hand generally in the direction of the door. Elizabeth found herself being eyed by both Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, the first with a friendly smile, and the second with a face that looked carefully blank. 

“By all means. I do believe that I will retire momentarily to sit with my sister once more, if that suits you Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst?” Elizabeth responded, addressing both ladies, but looking at the gentlemen still, noting one side of Mr Darcy’s mouth twist slightly in what could have been a smirk, again.

Mrs Hurst did not respond.

“Oh of course, dear Jane, how I hope for her swift recovery. Tis so odious to be ill. The doctor did say that he thought it not the ‘virus, which is a relief. We would not now want to encounter the ‘virus, having avoided it in London. Speaking of London, is this new blue gown which you are wearing from there? Tis most refreshing, I do not believe I have seen the make before,” said Caroline.

“No,” she said, looking still at Mr Darcy. “I do not believe it to be the ‘virus. I do thank you for taking such pains for her comfort. Tis such a relief to find her so well looked after.”

Mr Bingley bowed his head, and left. Mr Darcy actually smiled, and followed suit.

Elizabeth finished her last morsel of bread, and swallowed, looking back up to find herself with the regard of both remaining women, Mr Hurst having followed without waiting for or requesting leave.

“Dear sweet Jane. How she must be cheered by your visit. Do not feel that you need to beg leave from us, by all means. We would not keep you from her,” Mrs Hurst said flatly, while sipping the rest of her husband’s wine, and observing Elizabeth over its rim. 

“Yes, of course, and do tell her that I will call in shortly. If of course she is awake, and that would be convenient,” said Caroline, “I would dearly love it. If not the ‘virus, then how do you account for her illness? For our party has none, and Meryton, we had believed relatively free of illness.”

Elizabeth looked at her hands on her lap and willed them to unclench her dress.

“Virus free, yes, but that does not mean we are not without illness of any kind. Perhaps Jane encountered something while visiting here, that you brought with you from London. It does not signify now. If you will pardon me, I will indeed take my leave.”

Elizabeth did sit with Jane for a relatively pleasant time, as Jane’s fever had abated, and the sisters were able to configure the multitude of pillows the sisters Bingley had provided for her into a comfortable seat from which to observe the meadows and hills of Netherfield, which were interesting because they were different to those that one could see from the windows of Longbourn, and when Caroline arrived, and deigned to sit on a chair closer to Jane’s bed than social distancing would quite allow, Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised to find that Caroline was not disposed to interrogate Jane in quite the same manner as she had adopted with Elizabeth earlier. Having helped Jane to tea, when it was brought in, and to the facilities, after Caroline had excused herself, and it being too late for Elizabeth to now return to Longbourn she had no excuse now but to join the Netherfield party in the drawing room.

As remarked upon by her mother on previous visits, the room was most pleasantly situated in the morning. In the afternoon, the sun shone rather too brightly into the room for the liking of Miss Caroline Bingley, who preferred to avoid any hint that her skin had had even the slightest exposure to the sun, and yet appeared in mirrors. However, the gentlemen preferred the room for the writing of letters, and the consumption of sherry, when duty was done. The Bingleys had not done much to the room, truth be told, other than the replacement of the curtains, which had been rather moth eaten. The dimensions of the room were most pleasing, and enabled all persons within the room to sit at a comfortable distance from one another, occupied in several different pursuits, and so it was when Elizabeth arrived. Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were still occupied at a single dark walnut table, the former poring over a book of columns of figures, and the later at writing a letter, with a pile of previously written letters before him. In another corner, with a good deal of light, Mrs Hurst sat with embroidery silk and a hoop, and did not look up on Elizabeth’s entrance. By the fire, set and lit, despite the relatively warm weather, sat Mr Hurst, availing himself of a glass of sherry, with no letters or books to evidence having earnt it. Caroline was pacing about the room, carrying a peacock styled fan, with which she was sporadically fanning, and observing the movements of the others.

Elizabeth had noted from previous visits the well stocked shelves of the Netherfield library, and moved immediately to the smaller shelves within the drawing room, the better to examine the titles. She found with pleasure several titles new to her, and selected one at random, CELIA SUITED, OR THE RIVAL HEIRESSES; COMPRISING NEW SKETCHES OF MODERN FEMALE HABITS AND MANNERS, RELIGION AND MORALS. IN TWO VOLUMES, by a Lady, by which in pencil a neat hand had written Jane Best. A sofa and the interest of a new book were too tempting, and she managed a fair quarter of an hour by the clock before she was noticed.

“Ah! Miss Eliza! I had begun to wonder whether you had lost your way. Netherfield is on a different scale to Longbourn, of course. Delightful to see you once more. Jane is well?” enquired Caroline, having left her not half an hour earlier, and sitting herself upon the sofa next Elizabeth.

“How kind you are to enquire. She was approaching well when I left her and perhaps in a day or two will be fully recovered,” responded Elizabeth, which is what the doctor had said to them both that morning. “We must trespass on your differently scaled Netherfield a trifle longer, I fear. I do hope this will not inconvenience you.”

“Not at all,” said Mr Bingley, looking up from his book of figures. “I am grateful for the opportunity to know you both better. It would not be inconvenient should Jane need to recover here for a much longer period of time.”

Mr Darcy sighed. “Charles. You do realise that that would mean Jane would need to be quite ill indeed. I cannot think that a sensible desire.” From the distance at which Elizabeth was sitting, she could not quite make out the details of either gentleman’s face, but felt able to hazard a guess that one side of Mr Darcy’s mouth was crooked in a smirk, at once more having caught his friend in the act of being ridiculous. Mr Bingley appeared to be smiling nonetheless.

“No, of course,” said Mr Bingley. “However, had Jane not fallen ill, I dare say I should not have heard about Mistress Postlethwaite, of Meryton Hollow, and her embroidery skills. Nor the tisane receipt that we sampled this morning. Nor heard about the quaint buns of Bath. That would have been quite the loss.” 

Elizabeth fancied she saw Mr Bingley smirking at Mr Darcy, and Mr Darcy shake his head in return.

“Yes,” said Caroline. “Quite the range of topics, indeed. And quite a diverse range of persons Miss Jane attends upon, from the titled down to the impoverished, and perhaps that is where she contracted her cold, after all. One cannot be too careful when attending upon the poor. A very diverse range, when considered against the ladies of our acquaintance in London. Although, I dare say, and comparisons are, as they say, odious, there are ways in which our London acquaintances have the edge over our Meryton ones.”

“Caroline,” hissed Mrs Hurst. “You go too far. Consider your company.”

“Oh,” said Miss Bingley, “I do not include the Bennetts, to be sure. Or the Lucases. We find you most congenial company, certainly. You are very accomplished, I am sure.”

Elizabeth carefully looked at the page number of her book, and closed it in her lap. “I am certain that we are not so. Indeed, we should test your assumption most prodigiously.”

“Miss Bennett,” said Mr Bingley, marking his place in his book of figures and doing the same. “I am certain you are too severe on yourself and your family. I never met a young lady who was not considered in some way to be accomplished.”

“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth, “we are talking at cross purposes. What do you consider to be required for a young lady to be truly accomplished? What is needed for London society to so bestow that term?”

“Well, said Mr Bingley, “I have observed my sisters to do a great deal of painting, and embroidery. That must count for something. Then there was the French tutor you insisted upon, Caroline, the fellow’s name escapes me. French was quite the thing last season, was it not? Skill at pianoforte, of course, ladies are always tinkering away at the things.”

The Miss Bingleys bridled in their respective seats. 

“Tinkering, indeed, Charles,” said Caroline. “A little more respect. Tomorrow I shall drown you in Clementi if you do not.”

“What of more practical learning? In Meryton, the past several months have taught us that there is little merit in being able to accurately paint a fine repast, if you cannot in fact put that repast to table. Nor in fine embroidery, if one cannot accurately assess the risk of infection from the ‘virus, and ease the suffering of those with it, until they recover, without becoming so infected oneself. Does that count for naught against the skills of the ton?” 

“Quite,” spoke up Mr Darcy, startling Mr Hurst, who spilt his sherry on his pants, and to a grateful glance from Elizabeth, “charity and generosity of spirit, as evidenced by acts, not words. And a desire for self improvement, as evidenced by extensive reading.” Mr Darcy cocked his head at Elizabeth’s book, and Elizabeth willed herself, unsuccessfully, not to flush.

“I do not believe you know any such woman. I am certain that I do not,” said Elizabeth bluntly. 

Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley cried out indignantly against Miss Bennett’s proclamation, and offered to introduce her to twenty such when she next attended London, and on hearing that she did not ever intend to travel to that fair city, barring a sensible reason, which that was not, made a louder commotion until Mr Bingley called the room to order, and suggested that they all return to their own activities, if they could not maintain peace in conversation. Elizabeth resumed her book once more. Caroline rose to her feet and resumed her pacing, turning her attention now to Mr Darcy.

“If you are writing to dear Georgiana, please do send her my best wishes for her continued health,” Caroline said.

“I am, and I will do,” said Mr Darcy, declining to look up from his page.

“What a fearful pile of letters you have there, Mr Darcy. They cannot all be to Georgiana.”

“No, indeed,” responded the gentleman.

“Do express my desire to see your dear sister,” said Miss Bingley.

“I have already included one such request. Two would be excessive,” responded Mr Darcy.

Elizabeth smiled at her book. From his position at the fire, if one cared to look, as Miss Caroline Bingley did, Mr Darcy could be seen admiring the glow it cast upon Elizabeth’s person, bringing out attractive glints and highlights of red in her otherwise brown hair.

When Elizabeth retired to care once more for her sister, and take supper at her side, Miss Bingley again noted how eagerly Mr Darcy leapt to his feet to bid her good even, to the more sedate salutation given by her brother, and the lack of one given by her brother in law, and privately declared that this would not do. Even if Mr Darcy was not for her, he should not be for a no one such as Miss Bennett, and perhaps he should be reminded of his position.

“Charles, shall I provide you with the promised Clementi? Or would you prefer I demonstrate my skills at attending to the culinary arts? Oh, to be as accomplished at such skills as the Bennett sisters. I do declare, I have never heard such an extraordinary proposal. Surely you would not want your sister, Mr Darcy, to be set to in the kitchen. Imagine her hands! I shall make a study of Miss Eliza’s hands tomorrow, if she offers an opportunity without glove. How thoroughly improper.” Had Miss Bingley observed Mr Darcy at that moment, she would have observed that her bolt had struck wide of the mark, as his nostrils flared at the implication.

“Do pipe down, sister Caroline. I think it no great insult to any person, man or woman, to suggest that provision of aid to oneself and others be a skill that should be learnt, and indeed, it is a fine suggestion. Perhaps while we are in country, you could ask Miss Jane Bennett, once recovered, or Miss Lucas, for some practical training in the matter, for I well see that you have taken against Miss Elizabeth. Really, I do wish that you would learn to be more moderate in your preferences. The girl means no harm.” Mr Bingley did not look up from his figures to deliver such speech, or he would have noted that his bolt struck true, as Caroline blanched as white as the almond coloured underskirt she affected. 

“And you, Mr Darcy, are you of the same mind as Charles? Are you and Miss Elizabeth so well suited that even with such a shopping list of a mother, her no doubt many practical accomplishments and fine eyes are enough to wish you joy? When shall you name the day?” 

Mr Darcy declined to answer, although he privately ceased his speculations about how Miss Elizabeth Bennett’s hands should feel if ungloved, and held in his own. Miss Bingley, crossed, strode to the piano and played her Clementi with slightly too much tempo, and very definitely too much brilliance. Mr Hurst woke with a start and split his sherry once more.


	8. An evening by the fire

It was raining again on the morrow, and on the next day, as the sisters Bennett saw from Jane’s bed, sheets of grey blanketing the hills, and races of water trickling down the pane. Elizabeth successfully avoided conversation of all kinds beyond the superficial with the Bingley party in the morning, and by the afternoon tea time, Jane declared herself sufficiently well to emerge and take tea with all and sundry in the drawing room.

Caroline welcomed Jane with pleasure, beckoning her to what Caroline declared her favourite chair, although Elizabeth had not yet seen her sit in it, and plumped the cushions well before allowing Jane to sit down. Mrs Hurst stoked the fire, while her husband took his turn at the walnut table with Mr Darcy and a collected pile of letters, the latter with more grace than the former. Mr Bingley himself brought to Jane a weak cup of tea, sugaring it well for energy to combat the remains of her illness, despite Jane’s protestations that such was not her preference, and drew a chair within an appropriate distance from her own, the better to converse. Each of the Bingley family was eager to confirm with Jane that she was comfortable, and Jane was very well able to assure them she was excessively grateful for their kind hospitality. Although pleased for her sister, naturally Elizabeth could not help but contrast their manners as displayed towards Jane, with those displayed towards herself, and determined to spare herself any further effort in seeking to become friends with the sisters Bingley. When she returned her gaze back to her book, she was startled to find herself the object of Mr Darcy’s attention, albeit with a face so blank she knew not what to make of it. He did not avert his gaze until she arched an eyebrow, on which he slightly flushed, and returned to his books, and she to hers, and she did not know what to make of that either.

Although her book was of interest, her attention could not help but be drawn to the conversation unfolding between Mr Bingley, Jane, and his sisters. Mr Bingley was expressing his pleasure at seeing Jane so much better, quite back to the level of colour in her face on the night of the Meryton assembly and how gracious an introduction she had provided to the people of Meryton, thus enabling him to make an excellent first impression, and his sisters were in turn denouncing him for naivety, for the people of Meryton, in their view, would forgive a gentleman of his means just about anything, and Jane, blushing, was explaining that he would naturally make a excellent first impression, regardless of his means, and Elizabeth was well content with this, until the conversation expanded to Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy, by contrast, was expressing his view, very firmly, that he did not consider it responsible to form an impression so rapidly, and that forming such an impression on such an occasion would by its very nature be flawed. Elizabeth could not help that this was a slight directed at her Jane. Despite her promise to her sister to bite her tongue despite any provocation, her rebuke would out.

“Such an approach, sir, may have been well suited to an era that allowed persons to form views in a more leisurely fashion. It may be that all one has is time for a first impression, before the next crisis arrives. Would not it be better, sir, to have formed an opinion that could be amended in future, if need be, than to remain removed in such a manner that you form an impression of none?” 

His brown eyes narrowed at her. “Miss Bennett,” he said evenly, “I trust you will allow that my method of forming friendships has suited me well with regard to Mr Bingley? I first met Mr Bingley through a mutual acquaintance in college, a person who I have known over a long course of years to be of sense and taste. I then had the pleasure of dining with him a number of times in company, and found him to be as amiable and pleasant a fellow as my acquaintance had suggested, albeit with a slight tendency to agree a little readily with any person who expresses themselves strongly enough. I invited him to Pemberley where my good opinion of him was solidified through the courtesy and compassion he demonstrated when we encountered my servants and tenant farmers. A finer fellow you could not hope to meet, as demonstrated by his excellent handling of the Bingley mills during the recent times. I reserve my good opinion until I understand the person with whom I am dealing. Once lost, my good opinion is likewise lost forever.”

To such a strong opinion, the room fell silent. Caroline wore a smug smile, while Mr Bingley flushed at such praise, but Jane appeared to be on the verge of tears, and Elizabeth could not let that stand.

“I prefer to take a more sensible approach to risk, Mr Darcy. If a person is fortunate enough to form a tolerable first impression with me, I will allow myself the benefit of the doubt and expect a desirable outcome, until the person proves otherwise. I prefer to behave as if others are worthy of trust, rather than the reverse. Were I to adopt your approach, I have no doubt that I would not have had time to form a good opinion of many of the persons that we lost during the recent epidemic, whether they deserved it or no.” She felt herself to have tipped from impassioned orator into the grounds teetering near harpydom, and reflected. “I will allow that from the first impression Mr Bingley has made upon us all, you do have excellent taste in friends, and perhaps we should agree to disagree on the way in which friendships should be made, if we have both arrived at the same destination.”

Mr Darcy bowed, and returned to his book once more, and she to hers, and the party at the fireplace to a more subdued conversation and she thought the topic at rest, as it should have been. However, pushing up from his armchair by the fire after a few minutes, Mr Bingley begged the pardon of the ladies, and resumed a seat at the walnut table and with that, the conversation.

“If I may say so, Darcy, and I am sensible of the compliments that you have given me, I cannot quite agree that your approach is fit for all purposes. I think it is horses for courses. For a trail ride, I would dare say that I should take my time in the first day in getting to know my ride, no matter how good the recommendation, and then, as you say, form an opinion of how best to work with it. But for a quick trot around the park, why, ‘tis odious to question one’s friend who has brought the mount to you, and bade you ride! So too, in business, if I were to form a long term partnership to take supply of raw materials and craft it into cotton fit for a particular purpose, then yes, I should take my time in getting to know the partner, and how reliable their supply is, and their product, and so on, before making a long term commitment, and heed well any warnings offered by those I trust, as I tried to tell you, Hurst, before you committed to that silk contract, but no more of that, you’ve heard enough from me on that topic, and tis a moot point with all such trade at a standstill for the duration. But for a short supply, then yes, first impressions absolutely count, and worth not taking too much time before acting upon them. If I had waited to form a set opinion with each and every contract for supply to the government and each doctor before committing to supply, I dare say a number of people would have been far to the worse, and not just financially. Horses for courses, Darcy. Horses for courses.” 

Darcy, to Elizabeth’s untrained eye, appeared slightly surprised at this speech, but returned to his work without further comment, turning from his book to his pile of paper, and starting another letter. 

Caroline patted Jane upon the knee. “Dear Jane. You must feel quite fatigued after sitting for such a spell. Shall we take a turn about the room, and refresh you?”

Jane smiled gratefully at Caroline and rose to her feet, taking her arm. “Thank you, too kind. Sister, will you join us?” 

Elizabeth had always had a hard time refusing Jane anything, for she very rarely asked. Elizabeth did not spare time looking at Caroline or Louisa, but took Jane’s right arm, and the three of them, elegant Caroline in her navy silks, Jane in her comfortable light blue cotton, and Elizabeth in her now clean lemon muslin, started a slow lap around the drawing room, as the golden hour touched every tree with glowing light, and the first tinges of sunset arrived on the edges of the white billowing clouds. As they approached the fireplace once more, completing the lap, Jane professed fatigue, and allowed herself to be seated again. Elizabeth turned to resume her own seat, to find that Miss Bingley had claimed her arm directly, and resigned herself to taking another turn. 

“It is most refreshing, is it not, Miss Eliza? Charles, Darcy, do you not want to join us? I am sure that you must need a turn yourself. Join us, do? Eliza, throw your voice behind me.”

Mr Bingley waved her off, and turned back to the figures he and Mr Hurst were puzzling out. Mr Darcy, however, put his pen down and turned to watch them, as they walked the length of the room, the setting sun rosying their faces, and dresses, as they walked. 

“I would not dare ask Mr Darcy to do anything for me.”

Caroline turned an inquiring eyebrow on her. “Oh? Why in heavens not? Have no qualms about rank here, my dear. I am certain Mr Darcy does not mind.”

Elizabeth cast a look of mute appeal at her sister, who was looking earnestly at her, with something Elizabeth knew to interpret as a request to bite her tongue, and followed suit. 

“No, by all means. Rather, I am sensible that Mr Darcy does not know me well enough to have formed a good opinion of me, and if he has not that, I do not think he would grant even such a simple request. I am right, sir?”

Mr Darcy stifled what could have been a laugh, or could have been a hiccup, behind a hand. “You are right, and yet you are wrong.”

“Oh? What an interesting state in which to find myself. Pray, sir, explain, if you would be so good,” asked Elizabeth.

“You are correct as to your estimation of my principles. However, you do yourself no credit in your conclusion. Further, I would not grant such a request, whether put by you or by Miss Bingley.”

Miss Bingley held Elizabeth’s arm and stopped their circuit. “Sir, how very shocking. What kind of gentleman refuses a simple request from a lady?”

Darcy looked at Mr Bingley, but it was Mr Hurst who spoke. “Caroline, you chit, you know very well why you are walking up and down in front of the fire, and it’s not for exercise. Don’t let’s pretend amongst ourselves, just because you happen to be in front of the Miss Bennetts. Louisa, I do think it must be time for the ladies to retire.”

Caroline affected a shock, hand to mouth, but did not move from her position in front of the fireplace. Elizabeth, who had taken Mr Hurst’s meaning directly, moved to her sister, the better to hide her flushed face, as Jane stood.

“Thank you, all, for a very educative evening. I am hopeful that in the morning,” said Jane, “that I may send for mama and the carriage, for I feel that I am now almost quite recovered, and should trespass on your hospitality no longer.”

Mr Bingley pushed back his chair and stood. “Of course, Miss Bennett. It has been our pleasure.” 

Had Elizabeth the gumption to look back, she would have noted Mr Darcy standing next his friend, and looking equally as nonplussed as she felt. She did not feel equal to teasing out the evening with Jane, who had indeed exhausted herself and required some assistance to retire. She did however, in the privacy of her own chamber, determine that she would be sure to wear thicker gowns in fire lit drawing rooms should she ever be in such a situation again.


	9. Chapter 9

The sisters Bennett went their separate ways by private agreement in the morning, Elizabeth to form a third in a walking party about the grounds with the Hursts, and Jane to take a more quiet and private tea with Caroline. Separately each enjoyed their mornings much more than perhaps would have been the case had those ingredients been mixed. Elizabeth found conversation with the Hursts more diverting than she had anticipated from their shallow interaction in the drawing room. The Hursts had had occasion to travel to India shortly after their marriage in connection with a business venture, unfortunately at an end now due to the ‘virus although had been most promising at the time, had the ‘virus not interfered. Mr Hurst had fascinating stories of monkeys, and mangoes and flowers that perfumed the air along with spices that enflamed the mouth, and Mrs Hurst spoke of the temples, and the colours, and the people, and both seemed happier to speak of the past than to reflect on the future that lay ahead, and Elizabeth was content to hear their reflections, and to observe the way that they smiled on each other’s memories, in a way that they did not in the firelit setting of the drawing room. Jane had no complaints of her morning with Miss Bingley, as they had found more in common in the absence of the others than in their presence, a fascination with orchids, and a shared knowledge of their proper cultivation, and a desire to grow more, once a proper greenhouse could be constructed. Mr Bennett had a very small greenhouse, and an even smaller collection, which Miss Bennett promised to show Miss Bingley at the first opportunity, and to take a cutting for an attempt at propagation. Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley had been so good as to conclude their business in Meryton village proper by early afternoon. Thus all were assembled by mid afternoon in good humour, when the Bennett carriage arrived to retrieve the Bennett sisters. 

However, the Bennett carriage did not arrive by itself. Indeed, on hearing the crunch of the gravel on the drive, the Bingley sisters had taken a position at the windows of the drawing room, so as to be best positioned to comment on the arrival, and were not disappointed, as Miss Bingley was able to comment to her companion that she had expected a flock of geese, in a voice just loud enough to be heard by the Bennett sisters at the drawing table, but not quite loud enough to be heard by the gentlemen sitting by the fire. Elizabeth, noting her sister’s stern look, did not respond, but made a further private tally mark against Miss Caroline, while Miss Caroline did likewise against the Bennetts.

A short time thereafter, Mrs Bennett, Mary and Lydia were shown into the drawing room, and Elizabeth was privately grateful that she had not said a thing, as between her mother and Lydia, the resemblance to loud fowl was uncanny, between the repeated admiration of the curtains and Miss Bingley’s gown, and the emphatic concern for Jane’s health and wellbeing, despite Jane being at pains to assure both that she would be quite fine. Once her mother and sisters had seated themselves on the settee, the effusive praise of the Bingleys abated, somewhat, and conversation shifted to a summation of the latest happenings in Meryton village of note, as identified by Lydia and Mrs Bennett. 

These were two in nature, first, that the milliner’s had a new shipment of ribbons, gloves, and masks in stock, which was of note, as for some time now the village had been without a reliable supply, and if the ‘virus made a resurgence, as some learned medical professionals in London had been quoted as saying that it could do, ‘twas best to be prepared for the worst, and one could not do that without reliable sources of personal protective equipment. The ribbons, which Lydia spent most time describing, were of secondary import, but entertaining nonetheless, although Elizabeth saw Caroline twitch her mouth at Louisa, while Mr Bingley appeared to be paying as much attention to the ribbons as he did to the masks. 

The second was of equal interest. The militia had formed a camp in the commons outside Meryton village. Bingley and Darcy exchanged pointed looks.

“I take it, madam, that these are part of the regiment that was to deploy to France, were it not for the ‘virus? Part of the fight against Napoleon?” asked Mr Darcy. 

“La, sir, I did not speak with them! Do you think we in Meryton are quite that unmannered?” said Mrs Bennett, in high dudgeon, although Elizabeth knew well that her mother was not above such a thing.

“Lydia, did you happen to note any colours? Any insignia?” tried Elizabeth, to a look that she would almost call grateful from Mr Darcy.

“I do believe that there was an acorn? Mama, do you recall any better?” said Lydia, and Elizabeth was surprised by the look that appeared on Mr Darcy’s face, one that she felt embarrassed to have seen, so full of private rage, a gritting of teeth and almost a snarl, from such a well mannered gentleman, a shocking display of emotion.

“Ah,” said Mr Bingley. “That will be the 22nd Regiment of Foot, from Darcy’s county. They should still have been on service in the colonies, but were recalled last year, when the ‘virus first reached those shores. No matter, I am certain that time will see the end of this, and they will be useful once more.”

“Sir,” interjected Mary. “I do believe that they have new orders to be useful in the fight we face against the ‘virus. For rather than a parade to enter Meryton, as we did expect, the first that we knew of it was several members entering the milliners, after we had finished our business, fortunately, and requiring that we leave the village proper, to observe the rules of social distancing. I did seek to provide them with better intelligence that Sir Lucas had seen fit to relax those rules, as there had been no new cases in our county for three weeks, but the officer was not inclined to listen. Hence, we are here.”

“Although,” said Lydia, “I was gifted a ribbon by one as we left. Such dashing eyes! I do love a man in uniform.”

Mr Darcy frowned, and cast a disapproving look on her.

“Oh, I too,” said her mother, and Elizabeth wished that she would not, “It has been an age since we have seen men in regimentals. I recall many a fine flirtation in my youth, although you would not think it to look at me now, a mother of five girls grown! That was before your father, of course, girls. I do think that their uniforms are quite the thing. Do you not, Miss Bingley?”

Miss Bingley raised her fan, the better to hide her smile from the Bennett mother. 

“I am not so inclined, Mrs Bennett. Not all experiences one has with the militia are quite as positive as yours appear to have been. Charles, perhaps you can speak to the militia and ensure that they have up to date information, as I did not come to the country to stay inside. No, indeed,” said Caroline, from behind the fan.

“I shall make enquiries, Caroline, but the grounds of this estate offer many excellent escapes, if the militia do not listen. Miss Eliza, Louisa, you must confirm this to be the case,” said Mr Bingley, in an   
effort to change the conversation, and Elizabeth was ready to answer such appeal, but Lydia would not have it.

“Mr Bingley, you simply must! A house such as this is crying out for a ball, and you must throw one. Especially now Jane is better. You could even invite the militia! Oh, how splendid that would be! Mr Bingley, do say you will.” 

Mr Bingley found himself the object of all attention. Elizabeth recognised Lydia’s look only too well to be the one that she used to wheedle ribbon money from their papa, and was ready for the inevitable outcome, a concession.

“I dare say we shall. As soon as we sort out the business with the militia and Sir Lucas, and Miss Bennett is quite recovered, we shall dust out the rooms of this estate, and do the thing properly, eh sisters? Miss Lydia, we shall all need your assistance in setting us on the right path.” 

Lydia squealed, and Caroline winced, lowering her fan. “A ball. How positively delightful. Dear Jane, I do hope you will give me the benefit of your company for at least part of the night, for I am positively missing you already.”

Jane blushed prettily. “Of course. I shall be quite at your disposal.”

Mr Darcy crossed his legs, drawing the attention of the room. “I am sure it shall be quite the diversion, Miss Bingley, although very different to the society you keep in town.”

Mrs Bennett drew herself up to her full height, although the impression was somewhat lost, as she still sat upon the couch. “We have plenty of society still here, Mr Darcy, even if we have been confined as a clam. There are plenty of gentlefolk here, and I dare say the society is no worse than any in town. Indeed!”

Elizabeth sighed. “Mama, Mr Darcy, I am sure, was reflecting on the difference at the current time between town and county. As I understand it, for the last several months, Miss Bingley has been without society, due to the ‘virus. Is it not so, Miss Bingley?”

Miss Bingley curtly nodded, her fan up once more, and her eyes cutting at Mrs Bennett. “I shall be most delighted, I assure you, Mrs Bennett.” 

“Well,” said Mrs Bennett, still in an affronted tone. “I dare say, Jane and Elizabeth, that we should take you home, if it is all the same to you, Mr Darcy. I would not want to inflict any society upon you that you did not care for.”

Elizabeth knew a lost cause when she saw one, and rose to her feet, and the party along with her. Mr Darcy looked at his feet. Mr Bingley looked at Jane. Lydia looked at Miss Bingley. Mr Hurst returned his gaze to his wineglass, heartily sick of the whole business.

Mr Bingley signalled to the footman, and the party descended to the drive, where the carriage had been brought around. Elizabeth looked at Jane, as their luggage was loaded to the rear, but she seemed serene at the proposition that five Bennetts and luggage would fit in a carriage that comfortably seated only four. Lydia, not waiting for an invitation, took a footman’s gloved hand and sprung to the driver’s seat, and Elizabeth privately feared for their luggage, for Lydia’s role as driver of others was very recent. Mary took a firm grip of the edge and leapt into the carriage without assistance. When Elizabeth chanced a look, Caroline’s eyebrows were both raised, but there was naught to be done about either sister in any case. 

Mrs Bennett allowed herself to be assisted with the benefit of a footman, and Mr Bingley, and was effusively grateful for both. Jane smiled sweetly at Mr Bingley as she was handed in, and then at Caroline and Louisa from an elevation. Elizabeth had not been attending as she waited for her mother and sisters to situate themselves, frankly waiting for the experience to end, and put her hand out, fully expecting that of the footman to give her a firm platform from which to ascend.

It was not the footman’s gloved hand, but Mr Darcy’s bare one that held hers. She had neglected to put her gloves on that morning, as the grounds were a confined space, and she had already been in close proximity with the Netherfield party, and of course, with her own family. She could not speak as to the gentleman’s reasons for such nakedness. For such a person who seemed to take such little trouble to endear himself to others and in particular to her, she found that he had extraordinarily nicely warm hands. She was so surprised by the sensation that it took some seconds to realise that she had been handed in to her cramped seat, he had released her, and the carriage was in fact some ways down the drive. She had intended to turn to take a view of Netherfield as the drive made its bend, and raise a hand to the Bingley party in thanks, but such intention did not make way into action. Had she done so, she would have noted Mr Darcy similarly afflicted, gazing after the carriage, while Bingley spoke earnestly and waved the carriage on its way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More lightly buttered toast ensues

“I have received a letter,” began Mr Bennett the next morning, “that may change our lives for all time to come. If you permit me, I shall share it with you all now.” He put down his lightly buttered toast, the better to gesture as he read.

“Oh! Jane, it must be Mr Bingley, writing for your hand! How very traditional of him. Hill, our best dinner for tonight, please, for surely the gentleman will come to call,” exclaimed Mrs Bennett.

“It is not Mr Bingley. It is a gentleman I have never met before,” said Mr Bennett, to the shock of all, not in the least Mrs Bennett. “Moreover, my dear, Hill has returned to her family, and if you wish to put our best dinner to table, we shall all need to turn to. Your famous apple pie would be delightful.”

Mrs Bennett put her hands to her face. “How can you tease me so? Before I commit to any kind of dinner, let alone a pie, you must reveal the name of the gentleman. Jane, I do beg your pardon. Mr Bingley is not old fashioned at all.”

Jane looked at her plate of lightly buttered toast and coloured prettily. Kitty, in high dudgeon, as she had not been allowed in the carriage to Netherfield on account of her seasonal cough, served herself another cup of tea while Lydia reached for another piece of toast. Mary, disinterested, continued to read her book. Elizabeth recalled the kippers of Netherfield, and the relative quiet of the breakfast table and sighed. 

“The name of the gentleman will become apparent, my dear, as I read. Elizabeth, attend, because I find this letter most diverting.” Mr Bennett looked over the top of his glasses, and Elizabeth sat up with her back straight, with high expectations.

He cleared his throat and read.

"My dear sir,  
In this time of crisis, it is most meet that I, as a minister, reach out to those who may be in need. I can think of no more deserving of the solace that I can offer than you, my kinsman. Despite my learned father and yourself having fallen out, for reasons of which we shall not speak at the present time, so as to not add to the general malaise, I wish now to extend the olive branch of peace, before you pass, as we all must, into the bosom of compassion waiting at the end of days. Since it is likely to be your lot, before it is mine, due to your more advanced years, and the taxation of fathering no less than five daughters, it is my fervent hope that you accept this in the spirit it is meant, in brotherly compassion and condescension.”

Lydia burst out into full laughter, at which Mary and Jane hushed her. Mrs Bennett sat entirely upright, with an air of high suspicion. 

Mr Bennett continued. “My patroness, the esteemed Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, has recently suffered an unfortunate loss to the ‘virus, of her most beloved daughter, Anne. I held a funeral at our local church, well attended by all of rank or who owed duties to the de Bourgh family, and I pride myself that no finer funeral has been held in the current season. However, our hosannas were rudely abbreviated by the heathen militia, who ordered that all return to their own dwellings and isolate. Hands were laid upon my person, nay, even hands upon the Right Honourable Lady Catherine, in a manner most rude, and the church was closed and locked. In vain did I tell them that the duties of a minister are protection enough, and that my calling is a sacred one which must not be interfered with by the duties of a militia.” 

He paused, to look about the breakfast room. Mrs Bennett looked exceedingly angry, as she ever did when he mentioned his cousin. Mary looked scandalised. Kitty and Lydia had lost interest and had renewed their assault on their lightly buttered toast. Elizabeth retained her upright posture, but her lips had compressed into a straight line, and Jane was shaking her head. 

“He is one of those, I fancy,” said Mary, “who foolishly forgets that the Lord helps those who help themselves, and others. And fancies that words count for more than deeds. Perhaps he needs reminding.”  
Mr Bennett shrugged expressively. “I shall continue?” 

All nodded, save Kitty and Lydia, who continued their repast.

“For that reason, as a minister should not be idle, I believe it my duty now, as I alluded to at the commencement of my letter, to join you at Longbourn, and minister to you all at this time. You should expect me no later than the nth of [October], and I shall stay at least to the [nth of November]. I will be able to share with you at that time communiques from Lady Catherine on the subject of the ‘virus, and her views on the economy, which I believe to be of great force. Yours, etc, Mr Collins.”

He looked down at them all as he folded the letter into his breast pocket. 

“Mrs Bennett, what say you to making that pie now? For if I read his letter aright, we are to expect him by nightfall.”

Mrs Bennett crossed her arms. No pie, delightful or otherwise, would be forthcoming.


	11. A visitor comes to Longbourn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are excellent potatoes, and a troublesome cousin

Had he calculated out his day in advance, Mr Collins could not have selected a less convenient time for his carriage to pull up the drive to Longbourn, for he arrived at precisely the same time as Lydia emerged from her toilette in a wrapper, to ask her mother whether she’d taken her red ribbon or if Kitty had stolen it from her, who was refuting such allegation at the top of her voice, at the same time as Jane, who had been prevailed upon to deal with the stew for dinner, was attempting to regulate the oven, at the same time as Mary was losing a potato to the mysterious void under the now too hot to touch oven and being reprimanded by her mother for the same, and at the same time as Lizzy was undoing the unkempt remains of the French braid Lydia had, most painfully, practised on Lizzy’s person earlier that afternoon. Mr Bennett had retreated, as was his way, to his study, to review the books, or rather, to review the inside view of his eyelids under cover of a book, as he waited for the day to end.  
Consequently, Mr Collins’ rap at the front door was not noted for a number of minutes. Mr Collins, therefore, using logic known only to himself, determined the most expedient approach to becoming known to his relatives for the first time, would be to inquire at the rear entrance. There, he was indeed noted by Lydia with a loud exclamation.

“Sir! Mama! There is a man! Get out I say, sirrah! Scoundrel!” she shouted, at the top of her not inconsiderable lungs. 

A commotion ensued, as Mrs Bennett and the girls stumbled on and around each other, Jane narrowly avoiding burning Mary with a hot spoon, to arrive to their sister’s aid at the rear door, Mr Bennett arriving shortly thereafter. Thus it was that the entire Bennett family met Mr Bennett’s cousin for the first time. He was a medium man in all respects, neither short, nor tall, nor plump nor thin, not unhandsome but not memorable and hair unremarkable in all ways. The expression he wore above his parson’s collar was one of complete confusion, readily ascertainable as he wore no mask, and his ungloved hands were firmly clasped on a wide brimmed black hat, which he held in front of him as a shield.

“I do beg your pardon. I had understood this to be the house of my most esteemed cousin Mr Henry Bennett, but I must be mistaken. By your leave,” and he placed his black brimmed hat back on his head, and turned to leave.

“Sir, I am he,” responded Mr Bennett. “Mr William Collins, I presume?”

The gentleman turned back, with his mask of confusion now set to an ingratiating smile. “My dear sir, you are most correct. I do beg your pardon indeed, but are these your daughters, all six of them? I had thought you only to have five.”

Mrs Bennett coloured and wagged her finger at him. “Sirrah, you go too far. Do come inside, Mr Collins. I do beg your forgiveness for our state, for we had not expected you at this time or at this door.”

Mr Bennett cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should meet us at the front door instead, as I expect your carriageman will be grateful for the direction.” 

Mr Collins nodded, and the parties separated. The Bennetts arrived at the front door first, and were surprised to discover a coach positively laden with boxes, and a coachman looking as if he wanted to be any place other than where he was. 

“Mr Collins,” began Mr Bennett, on that gentleman finally arriving at the front door once more. “while we are, of course, delighted to entertain you, are all these boxes for your stay, or is your coachman conveying them to another location?”

Mr Collins looked up with another ingratiating smile. “My dear sir. I thought it meet to bring such items as might be useful to me here at Longbourn, should need require me to remain here. I do beg your indulgence in this matter. Perhaps there is a storeroom?” 

He peered hopefully into the interior of the house. 

Mr Bennett directed the coachman to the building next the stables instead.

Once Mr Collins’ travelling luggage had been deposited into the guest room, and the coachman departed with the coach, Mr Collins attended on the family in the drawing room, with Mr Collins taking the seat next the fireplace that Mr Bennett customarily sat in, and Mr Bennett standing by it, arms behind his back, next the fire, with the sisters distributed across the sofas and chairs opposite, and Mrs Bennett in her usual seat fortified with cushions. Elizabeth wished that she had glasses of the kind her father affected, the better to properly examine him, for she could discern no familial resemblance at all. 

“My dear Bennetts. I am most grateful to make your acquaintance in these most trying times. I do believe that the duty one owes to one’s own relatives is one that far trumps all others and I have long desired to make your acquaintance. It was the hope of my father that our families should reconcile, and this seems an opportune time to do so. In addition, I understand that your clergyman has been most neglectful of his flock for the last six months or more, which is most reprehensible, and I can assure you that I have brought with me a collection of my own addresses to my congregation over that time to rectify such a loss.”

Lydia gasped, and Jane discreetly kicked her foot, as Kitty coughed quietly. 

“Were you not also closed, sir, at the height of the epidemic?” asked Mary, her hands folded in her lap in a manner the sisters Bennett knew well prefaced a scolding of the kind only Mary could deliver.   
“Did you not consider at that point the risk to your parishioners physical well being outweighed the benefits to their spiritual? I would consider that requiring one’s fellows, let alone one’s parishioners, to risk their good health to be the more reprehensible behaviour, for every household has a Bible to be read at one’s leisure. Or do you consider us, or them, to be such special cases as needing additional ministry above and beyond the usual?”

Mr Bennett cleared his throat. “What Mary means to say, sirrah, is that we are grateful for your consideration, and would be delighted to have the benefit of your addresses at your leisure during your stay with us. Pray tell, sir, your letter mentioned a recent loss in your parish to the ‘virus, Miss Anne de Bourgh and a funeral that you held, following the unfortunate event. Forgive the indelicacy, but how many days have elapsed since Miss de Bourgh’s death? And the funeral?”

Mr Collins coughed lightly. “The sad event occurred not nine days past, and the funeral was, let me see, last Sunday, five days.” 

The girls sat straighter in their seats. Mrs Bennett leaned back.

“Do you mean to say, sirrah, or have I misunderstood, that Lady Catherine encouraged you to travel out of the parish so soon after such an event? For surely wisdom would have dictated that you remain in place for at least another week, to contain any contagion, rather than travel anywhere, let alone to Longbourn. And you wear no mask, no gloves. Would you be so good as to explain yourself?”

Mr Collins again lightly coughed into his hand. “With pleasure. At my leisure, I have taken pains to explore the available literature on this ‘virus. For those with wisdom to understand, it is immediately obvious that the isolation measures dictated to us by those in London, so far removed from our circumstances, simply are not relevant to our way of life. This contagion is one of the city, and the old, and the infirm, who God sees fit to call to himself at the time of his choosing. The measures are not properly based on sound logic, as they assume a concentration of population, and a duration in each others’ presence, that is not relevant to us. I am not at liberty to share with you the circumstances in which Lady Catherine’s daughter was put at risk, but they do not apply to me, and they do not apply to Longbourn. As for my mask, my gloves, why, those are not advisable, in my view. Touching ones mask to rearrange it, touching surfaces with ones gloves and then others, these are all ways in which the ‘virus spreads. Those measures are not, according to the literature I have read, protective for me against the ‘virus. Even if they were, why, I have ministered to so many who God has chosen to take to him over the past year that I am certain that if God had wished to take me, he would have before now. It has not been the case. Do not concern yourself for my cough, for it is the usual one that I have ever at this time of year.” Mr Collins spread his hands expansively, wiping the hand into which he had coughed upon the armchair in which he sat, causing Kitty to shudder.

Mr Bennett turned away to face the fire, but Elizabeth could see the horrified expression on his face, most uncharacteristic for a man who rarely displayed any emotion other than a pleasant and pleasing smile. It was obvious to her that there was little to be done, the man was already here, with whatever contagion he had, and the best outcome that could be hoped for was to minimise his contact with the community of Meryton.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Mr Collins shared with them all a reading from the sermons that he had given to his parish over the last several months. The reaction from the group was mixed. Mr Bennett excused himself after an hour, pleading business necessities, although Elizabeth could hear the front door shut behind him, and wholly anticipated that he had retired to his greenhouse to tend to his plants. Mrs Bennett angrily stabbed her needlepoint for the duration. Mary could not help herself but interject when points of illogic were too obvious to be borne. Kitty read a novel surreptitiously under the pile of darning which she held on her lap. Jane sat, upright, feigning interest, although Elizabeth suspected that her thoughts were far away in the estate of Netherfield, and Elizabeth resigned herself to poking Lydia awake at intervals, as the monotony proceeded until candles were called for by Mr Collins, at which point the sisters Bennett collectively but politely revolted, on the grounds that dinner needed to be attended upon. Mr Collins retired to his bedroom, and waited to be waited upon.

The Bennetts collectively retreated to the kitchen, even Mr Bennett, who would not normally dare, and were collectively horrified. 

“To travel to another county, if he is carrying the ‘virus,” said Mary, “is most reprehensible. I wonder at him taking the risk. Although, to him, it seems no risk at all.”

“Indeed,” agreed her father. “It is difficult to know what to do in this situation. He is clearly not a sensible man.”

“Surely,” suggested Elizabeth, “to be certain now, although I mislike the suggestion, we, and he, should isolate for a further fortnight. ‘Twould be prudent, I think. We cannot be certain that his cough now is, as he claims, but seasonal allergies of the kind our poor Kitty endures.”

Jane and Mary nodded seriously. 

“I say he should return home,” said Kitty. “He is a very boring person.”

She was promptly hushed by her older sisters, on the grounds that although she was correct, it was most rude to say so.

“No,” said Mr Bennett. “He will stay. It would be discourteous to turn him back now, and illogical. If he has brought the infection, then we are already now at risk. Sending him home lessens the risk, true, but he is already almost at the end of the time for which he should have isolated. We shall simply keep to home for the next half week, and monitor him, and ourselves. Nay, Elizabeth, do not look at me so. We have been anticipating his visit for many years, and now that he is here, ‘twould not make sense, in the bigger picture, to cast him out. Let us make him welcome at dinner, and contain him for the next week or so. We are, in the main, a sensible family, and with prudence, we shall manage this situation.”

“As you like, my dear,” said his wife. “But if he says one word more about your death, or turning us out, and he shall be walking back to his parsonage, and all those boxes distributed to the needy. On his ear, I say, Mr Bennett, on his ear!”

“Noted, my dear. I will watch and wait.” With that, Mr Bennett retreated once more from the kitchen.

Dinner was a more polite affair than the afternoon session had been. Polite conversation was made over the stew, and Mr Collins complimented Mary on her excellent potatoes. Mrs Bennett had her revenge when she was finally able to serve the last of a fruitcake that Kitty and Lydia had made, and no one had fancied, which may have been dropped in the pantry, retrieved and dusted off to the best of her abilities, and Mr Collins complimented his young cousins on their efforts, devouring it to the last crumb.


	12. Mr Collins stays at Longbourn

Isolation, Elizabeth mused privately, is and has been endurable with one’s family, and the solace of the small garden that Mr Bennett had established next the Longbourn house proper. With the addition of such a person as a Mr Collins, it is vastly less so. There was not a corner of the house, nor garden, that was too remote for him, so each of the Bennett sisters found, and the man could not remain silent once his target had been acquired. The topics of conversation were, unfortunately, limited. 

Jane endeavoured to engage him on the topic of ministry to the poor and disadvantaged, as she had found great solace in the past year by sharing Longbourn’s harvest, and surplus stores, with the indigent families who had been forced to retreat from other counties when the isolation order was first given. In response, Mr Collins shared that Lady de Bourgh had been so gracious to allow families of limited means to remain at Rosings, provided that they attended at his church every Sunday without fail, failing which they would be turned off without delay. Then he quoted extensively a sermon which had something to do with fish and sewing needles, or so Jane recounted to Elizabeth that night in bed, somewhat confused.

Elizabeth sought to engage him on the topic of moral philosophy and what, setting aside the commands of the New Testament, he considered a good person to be. This confused him greatly, and he did not seem to know many of the names with which she conjured, not Kant, not Voltaire, and was horrified when she asked if he knew the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft. She left him in the garden muttering about the natural order of things, and gave it up as a bad job.

Lydia and Kitty tackled him together on hats, and hair ribbons, and the cotton trade, but he freely admitted that he had no interest in the origins of the material that went into such vanities, which Jane resented on the Bingleys’ behalf, but not half so much as Kitty and Lydia on their own behalf, for the one thing that they had most missed during their isolation time was the opportunity to experiment with the matching of colours and textures, both for themselves, and their sisters and their friends. At that time, they had been sitting innocently enough in the parlour darning socks, but such industry was overlooked by their cousin, who launched into a different sermon on the topic of talents, and the wasting of them, which both resented bitterly.

Mary fared the worst, or rather the best. For she had as many scripture verses to cite as he, and had read more extensively the Apocrypha, and could not be fobbed off with simple statement that it was all as the Good Book dictated. Conversations, therefore, where there were no other Bennetts present, tended to devolve into close text analysis of the kind that only a Biblical scholar could appreciate, and would not cease, barring external interference, which none of the other Bennetts were keen to provide. Several of those conversations had continued well into the night, interrupted only by Mrs Bennett pointedly clearing her throat from the adjoining sofa and reminding Mary that some of them had promised to visit the tenants and actually minister to the ill in the morning. Elizabeth had fancied that she saw Mary’s brow furrow with disappointment, although she denied it in the morning as they walked down the hill with baskets laden, and declared William Collins the most obtuse man who had ever held a lectern. 

Mrs Bennett and Mr Bennett held contrasting views on the subject of Mr Collins. Mr Bennett was disinclined to form any better a relationship with his cousin than he had enjoyed the day on which he had received the letter alerting him to the proposed visit. He had found his cousin tedious over the first dinner, and did not desire any second opportunity to form a different impression. Mrs Bennett, by contrast, had rather reversed her first impression, once Mr Collins commented that his patroness, the esteemed Lady Catherine, had suggested that he use his visit to Longbourn as time to observe a happy matrimonial establishment, and consider how well a wife would compliment him in his endeavour, and that all her daughters had much to recommend them to that state. In fact, it may have been the case that Mrs Bennett had rather engineered all those conversations which the Bennett girls had been unable to escape, although she relented with Jane after the Bingleys came to call for a second consecutive afternoon. 

As it was, there was no chance to evade Mr Collins’ attentions, not even by dint of a walk into Meryton, as the militia had curtailed such pleasures, although great were Lydia’s protests on the subject. She spent more than one afternoon sketching out the features of her redcoats, although the faces were somewhat blurred, and the bodies rather more detailed than Mr Collins would prefer. Great, therefore, was Lydia’s joy, when the militia came to them instead, on an afternoon while Mr Collins was paying a visit on Sir Lucas as requested by Lady Catherine, to provide him with ministry directly, despite the isolation requested by Mr Bennett. It was rather less exciting for Mr Bennett, as Colonel Jones was not only asking for a commitment to provide staples that Mr Bennett had no wish to provide, with autumn turning to winter, but also a caution that the ‘virus had recurred in other parts of England, and it was well to be on continued guard, in particular for his own health, and that of his lady wife. 

Said lady wife was not, in point of fact, paying attention to the good Colonel on either front, as she, like the Bennett girls, was vying to press tea upon the lads in red. Elizabeth was very interested to make the acquaintance of Mr George Wickham, who Lydia had spoken of at length, he who had given Lydia the length of maroon ribbon she wore even now as a bow sewn to her bodice, and which had garnered her much attention. Mr Wickham did indeed have dashing eyes of grey blue, which twinkled at whichever lady so lucky as to draw his notice, and to Lydia’s chagrin, that lady was not she that morning, but Elizabeth. 

Mr Wickham had the best tales of his travels, although had she paid attention, the tales were light on details and would be hard to verify, if pressed. However, as for any other girl in Meryton, Elizabeth was chiefly observing the twinkle, and letting the words wash over her like cooling rain, for Mr Wickham’s voice was very soothing, and his hair so very curly, so that when she once again paid attention to the conversation, Mr Wickham was relaying a tale of great woe and shame indeed, the turning out of hearth and home of Mr Wickham himself at the onset of the terrible virus, by none other than Mr Darcy. 

“Yes,” said Mr Wickham, “even he. His father, the venerable Mr Darcy, had long treated me as a second son, the son that I daresay he wish he had, for he and I were much of a temper. We both enjoyed riding to hound, the chase over hill and dale. He would take me fishing while Darcy stayed indoors, preferring his book to the company of men. Before he passed, he had promised me a living on the estate. Instead, I know you will be shocked, when the first of the village of Lambton succumbed to the fearful malady, instead I say, it was the high road for me. If I see him, I say, I will bloody his nose for him, you see if I don’t.” 

Elizabeth was quietly appalled, but hid her thoughts behind a polite countenance. Mr Darcy, although he had been not the most forthcoming of conversational companions at Netherfield, had neither been rude, nor sought to turn Jane back into the rain with the cough when she presented. Still, it seemed too terrible a story to be conjured up to impress a stranger.

Lydia had no qualms in expressing her outrage behind a countenance that was nowhere near being ladylike. “Oh Mr Wickham! How dreadful, how absolutely damnable that man is! No, don’t you tell me to hush, Lizzie, I cannot hold my temper nor should I! If I see him, Mr Wickham, I swear I will do it for you!” 

Jane eventually led Lydia away to a less interesting table, with seedcake to pass to other soldiers, and Mr Wickham turned his conversation to less controversial topics, including how much he longed to ride to battle, and how terrible it was that the battalion had been recalled before he joined, for he should very much, had he coin to purchase the commission, like to serve abroad, and see the sights of the world, all the better to improve his stories for the ladies.

While Elizabeth once more allowed his conversation to wash over her, and nodded and said the polite things society required at the right time, it was not the same as before, and the washing over was more like a constant irritant, like sand in a shoe, for she kept coming back to the discrepancy between the two behaviours, and determined that should opportunity, and politeness present an appropriate way in which to ask Mr Darcy directly for the truth, she should take it.

After all the tea had been drunk, and seedcake eaten to the last crumb, and the Colonel had extracted as much as he could from Mr Bennett in the way of promises, the militia departed, with Mr Wickham ensuring that he kissed the glove of each one of the Bennett daughters, to the great delight of Lydia and Kitty, and to the despair of the others, who did not wish to have their gloves so treated. 

Mrs Bennett, Lydia and Kitty stretched out their excitement at the visit for the rest of the week. Lydia provided to all a recount on request, and sometimes without the request, and sometimes even if requested not to, of who sat where, and what Mr Wickham had said, and what Denny had said, and even what the Colonel had said, although the last was pure fabrication, as he had withdrawn with Mr Bennett, the better to extract promises of stores. The portraits of the militia produced prior to the visit were nothing compared to the attention to detail given after the visit. Mr Wickham’s curls were more lovingly drawn than before, and his eyelashes longer than ever. In vain did Mr Collins remonstrate, in vain did he lecture about vanity and the sins of the flesh, as Lydia told him to his face that he was simply jealous, and not half the man Mr Wickham was, and more in that vein. It would not do. In the end, Mr Bennett had to intervene and banned the topic of Mr Wickham, or the militia while Mr Collins remained in the house. 

For Mr Collins did not seem, so far as anyone could tell, to have fixed on a date for departure. When the Netherfield party came one afternoon to bring an invitation to Mr Bingley’s long promised ball to be held in a fortnight, Mr Collins, although he had not been expressly invited, gladly accepted. Of the party, only Mr Hurst was absent. Elizabeth tried to take the opportunity to make out once more Mr Darcy’s character and observe him as closely as she could from across a crowded drawing room, without being reprimanded, for Mr Bennett had absented himself to the greenhouse, together with Mr Collins who had expressed a desire to inspect that part of the property, and Mr Hurst had occupied himself with a glass of sherry, and Jane was pouring tea for her mother, and the Bingleys and all eyes should have been upon her. However, when she looked at Mr Darcy, his eyes were not. Rather, they were on Elizabeth herself, with a curious, searching gaze, almost as if he were trying to make her out, in the same manner. She smiled, and raised an eyebrow, in an attempt to share the joke with him, but he did not do likewise, so she ceased. From what she could see without losing the staring match, he was as hardy in appearance as any in the militia, and his hair was as worthy of a Lydia portrait. His eyes, it had to be said, were worthy of the deeper study that they were now receiving. Darker than her own, and at the present moment, severe, although she did not fancy that he was delivering to her a reprimand for their study, rather he did not wish to be in the drawing room, or in this company, at all. She was forced to break the staring match when her sister served her tea, and fully expected that she would finally have an opportunity to observe him without his notice once that task was over, but this was not the case, for it appeared he had rather taken that opportunity himself. She determined that she would not be flustered, for she had not faulted herself, nor Jane, in the simple act of taking tea, and without the smile this time, raised an eyebrow at the gentleman again. He would not be drawn. Between the account of Mr Wickham, and her experience of his forbearance at Netherfield, and now this challenging stare, she could not make him out at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before, there's no butter for the toast

The morning after the Netherfield ball, Elizabeth realises that she cannot recall the entirety of it at all. It is, for her, a series of vignettes, short musical pieces, some longer and strangely stirring, some discordant and jarring, and some vaguely ridiculous with horn interjections. An assemblage of pieces and performers that frankly do not belong in the same concert. Not that she has been fortunate enough to attend any concerts for the duration, no, her recollections are from a distant trip to London with her aunt and uncle when she was young and fortunate and the Bennetts still believed that there would be a son, some day, and when the ‘virus was not a consideration. She had been struck with the harmony, sitting stiff on the hard chair and waiting for the next movement, clapping in all the wrong unfashionable places, and the object of reproachful glances from those who knew better, but enchanted by the swirling sounds and not inclined to care. She does not recall feeling swept away by harmony of any kind at the Netherfield ball.

The birds outside the bedroom window she shares with Jane are too loud, or the music and the conversations and the punch last night too strong, for her head aches above her eyebrows, as if she’s used them too much, and her neck stiff from the dancing. She thinks, then, of Sir Lucas, and the way in which he’d reached to hold her gloved hands, and then checked himself, taking care to stay the distance, and spending only enough time to ensure that he paid his respects, and passed on his news and his warning. She cannot imagine her friend Charlotte having been ill for the last fortnight, without her awareness, so close to death, and she had not even known. She could have been lost to the ‘virus, as so many others had, despite all the months of cautious behaviour, and mask wearing, and social distancing. Charlotte, with her love of the witty quip and the cryptic crossword, she who had revelled in her red hair and the reputation that went with it, and her kindness towards her younger sister, and her patience with her slightly pompous papa, now in Elizabeth’s memory, fighting back a tear at the memory of his eldest daughter beset with shortness of breath, burning hotter than ever. Lizzie would have lost her, and she has not, and she is ill at the thought. Jane sleeps on, safe in her bed, and Elizabeth cannot but be grateful for that mercy, while praying that Charlotte’s recovery continues. She can hear in her memory the jig that was playing in the hall beyond, the merriment continuing unceasing, the violins happy in their dance. Elizabeth is caught by the thought of Charlotte’s potential death, and she does not think she will ever choose to partake in that particular jig again, no matter how pleasant the dance or the prospective dancing partner.

She robes herself and dresses for the day. Sir Lucas had left immediately on the moment, not wishing to risk the gathering. It had been unclear, he said, where his daughter had been infected. While it could have been one of the gathering, he was not willing, he said, to risk their health. She finds her handkerchief necessary. 

Below, she can hear Mr Collins making a noisy breakfast, plates and cutlery clashing as if at war. He is in the breakfast room and she can hear her father conversing, but the kitchen can be reached unseen, and she does. She draws a mug of coffee, and takes a slice of bread, with no opportunity for toast or butter, and makes an escape into the vegetable garden, secure in the knowledge that Mr Collins is no gardener of that kind, and will not find her there. He found each of them last night, easily enough, unfortunately. Jane, glowing in her health, white dress floating above the floor and hair as perfectly arranged as Mrs Bennett could manage in the absence of the acknowledged mistress hairdresser, their maid Florence, now with her family and unlikely to return for the next several months, had conversed politely as only Jane could manage, as Mr Collins waited to lead her into the first dance, having obtained her consent to such before they had even left the carriage at the foot of Netherfield. Great was Elizabeth’s feeling of triumph when Mr Bingley appeared at her side, and used his privileges as host to trump that request, and escort her onto the dance floor. Sadly, Elizabeth had not seen the next move in this particular game of chess, which was for Mr Collins to divert his attention to her, and for Elizabeth, there was no Mr Bingley to block that move. She does not recall the music for that first dance, only the sensation of her hand being held too tightly through the glove, and her feet bearing the brunt at the other end, and Mr Collins continuing to extol the virtues of his small rectory, and the life that his wife, whoever the unfortunate creature is to be, will surely lead. She does recall the feeling of relief at espying her sister Mary, still standing with her mother, and eyeing the piano longingly, at the end of that set, and completing that particular gambit by handing Mr Collins off to her, although with some slight misgivings, as Mary had stubbed her toes earlier, and Mr Collins would prove none too gentle should the dancing continue too long. To her relief, Mr Collins had not importuned her again, and danced for the remainder of the night largely with Mary, while Jane danced largely with Bingley, and Elizabeth danced largely with young men in red, saving the curly locked Mr Wickham, strangely absent. Mr Collins had even chanced a dance once with each of her younger sisters, although seating himself after each of the sets with Lydia and Kitty, and looking decidedly winded. 

Not sufficiently winded, it transpires. Elizabeth wanders deep into the pumpkin patch as she recalls, eating her unbuttered bread. The music had slowed, almost faded to the background, as someone, someone very much not her sister, and likely a Bingley sister who had been trained by the finest of London piano teachers with an impeccable pedigree, plays a languid Brahms, and she had relaxed, almost, into the night of the dance, almost set aside her friend’s illness, for Elizabeth could do naught for Charlotte by refraining from these particular pleasures, and revelled in the candles glowing about the hall, the fine dresses, the happy faces. This had been foolish. She had not noted Mr Darcy approaching until it was too late, too late to assume once more a polite face of bored indifference, and instead, she retained her no doubt provincial smile, with her no doubt provincial dress and hairstyle, that Lydia had managed, and remained herself, not pretty enough to tempt any gentleman of his rank to an offer of a dance and his company. She had assumed that he had sought her out to politely inquire after Jane’s health, which was a matter self evident, as she remained on the floor with his friend, but Mr Darcy, or so she had understood, was a gentleman who did the correct thing, because it was the correct thing, and the correct thing in this instance, with a lady of his acquaintance, would be to inquire after her sister’s health, she having been ill, and so he was doing so. Whether that was Mr Darcy’s intent in making his way to her, she would not have the liberty to find out, as Mr Collins arrived at the same time.

She viciously yanked a lettuce seedling from its soil bed for the sin of being too close to its fellows, social distancing being just as necessary to health in the garden, as in the village, its bitter juices remaining on her hands. She could not have imagined that Mr Collins would have spoken so freely, to a gentleman that he had never spoken before, and on a subject so sensitive, and in a hall so quiet, lulled into half slumber with the rocking motion of the Brahms, after the exertion of the fiddlers.

“Mr Darcy of Pemberley, I believe? Mr Collins, of the rectory adjacent to Rosings Park. I have the great honour to minister to your aunt, the most esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”  
Here Mr Collins had paused, and Elizabeth had dared to hope that that would be an end to the conversation. Perhaps he would leave, and dance again with Lydia, and she tried to catch her sister’s eyes, to no avail. For Mr Collins continued.

“Sir, it is my melancholy duty to report to you the death of your cousin, Miss Anne. We believe it to have been the ‘virus. I wish I had better tidings to give you than this, but know that all that could be done, was done, and Lady Catherine in her wisdom spared no expense in her treatment, and I myself attended to her on the night before she passed to the tender care of her maker. Lady Catherine did not leave her to the last. All at Rosings attended her funeral, despite any personal circumstances, and paid their respects. Sir, you have my sympathies, and I am certain that, should Lady Catherine have known that you were here in Meryton, she would have sent for you to also pay your last respects.”

Here he had paused for breath, and had she been possessed of more intestinal fortitude, she would have rebuked him, no matter how ill mannered it would have been regarded. No one deserves to be told of such tidings in so crowded a room, and in so loud a manner. However, it had been wholly unnecessary, as Mr Darcy had drawn himself up to a height that she had not realised he possessed, and cut him off. 

“I am certain that Lady Catherine would wish me to thank you. Mr Collins. A pleasure. Miss Elizabeth, please accompany me.” It had not exactly been a thank you to Mr Collins. It had not exactly been a request to Elizabeth. She had not exactly been sure of the correct way in which to respond, when it was too late for a polite response, and her gloved hand had been firmly placed into the crook of his elbow, and she was being escorted to another part of the hall, well away from Mr Collins.

There was faint polite applause, and Elizabeth had registered that the piano had gently, and appropriately, faded to a conclusion while she had been removed from Mr Collins. The fiddlers struck up once more, and she espied her youngest two sisters once more take the floor, with yet a different set of redcoats, and an excess of zeal, rather than the usual refinement and grace that no doubt the Bingleys and Mr Darcy would find in town. It could not be helped. 

She nipped the end off a squash vine, wincing as they fought back with their tiny spikes. She did not know now, nor did she know then, quite what Mr Darcy had intended in so removing her, for he had remained silent while they travelled, and when they had arrived at the other side of the wall, the music was too loud to converse with any tact, such as might be required when speaking with one who has been so abruptly informed of the death of a relative. She had not known what to say, and so had said nothing, standing taciturn at his side, both watching the crowd. 

“Forgive me. Do you know the gentleman? Mr Collins?” Mr Darcy addressed her abruptly, although each continued watching the couples turn and spin and bow and turn again.

“My cousin, sir. I feel I should apologise, sir. I had not expected him to approach or to broach such a subject,” she essayed, but he did not turn his head.

“The fault is not yours, and not yours to redress. I had thought,” he started, and stopped. When she had looked at him, his brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be looking into the distance, rather than the couples still spinning. “I have not seen my cousin for some time. She has never been particularly healthy. I had thought that my aunt had followed the isolation practices we had adopted at Pemberley. I had thought Anne to be safe.” He shook his head.

In the garden, with the squash vine in her hand, she knew what she should have done, locate the nearest Bingley sister, and leave him to the ministry of those he knew better. She nudged the dirt in around the edges of the vegetable bed, in a way that would have made her mother irate to see it. She found and established a further stake and twined the retained vines around it, in a way that better enabled all to expand, grow and produce for the winter ahead. 

She should not have squeezed his elbow in the same manner she afforded to her family. That had been an error. For when he turned, and asked for the favour of her hand for the next dance, she had no grounds to retreat, having shown such familiarity. 

The squash plant she left now to its own devices. The chickens clucked noisily on approach, and it was clear that Kitty and Lydia had not yet completed their assigned duties of collection, which Elizabeth now rectified, smooth eggs in the basket set by the hen house for use. His gloves had felt smooth in hers, but then, he probably possessed several such pairs, or the means to have them gently washed, with no repair, no rubs to speak of, and she wondered now if he had remarked the coarseness of hers. If he had, he had been gentleman enough not to confess it. 

The music had been unremarkable, the fiddlers that Mr Bingley had procured had performed at the Meryton assembly, and nothing that they played was unknown to her, and her feet seemed to move as if automatons, with her focus entirely on his hands on hers. It would not do.

“We must have some conversation, Mr Darcy,” she had said, and he had nodded in acquiescence, but not spoken. “I should say something about the size of the hall, and how well Mr Bingley has done in his arrangements.”

He had looked inquiringly at her, as if for a prompt, and so she had continued. “And then you should say something about how it is more pleasant to dance with persons with whom one is acquainted, now that we are. A little light flattery. Something about fine eyes, I should think, would do it.”

He had not been certain, she determined, whether she had heard his remark at the assembly. He was not, she did not think, still thinking on his cousin, at least, and such had been her object. For, she told herself, as she carried the basket of eggs, she did not care for melancholy, even if one’s dancing partner was barely tolerable, and though he did not speak, his face cleared, somewhat, and her object appeared to be achieved. She was still unclear as to whether she had cared for the reward, which was Mr Darcy’s undivided attention and scrutiny for the remainder of the evening. She had taken the floor with him a number of times, but besides that, no one else as Mr Darcy’s firm stare met those of all other potential dance partners who approached, to which none were equal. 

She had been shockingly aware of all of her flaws, whenever he looked her way, the restitched hem, the rubbed gloves, the hair that she was certain was half out of the new style her sister had tried and she in a fit of sisterly indulgence had allowed, small cunning braids and hairpins not entirely equal to the dance floor, and even the banality of her conversation, all designed to abstract his thoughts from his cousin, and the ‘virus and death. The way in which she so clearly appeared to be enjoying the liveliness of the fiddles, feet tapping, the whirl of the dancers, the gently glowing candles, she was certain that ‘twas not the done thing to be betraying one’s emotions with so obvious a smile, but she was damned if this was a flaw that she would suppress, even for the melancholy of such a one as Mr Darcy. If he had chosen to shelter by her side from the disturbance of her cousin, then he would simply have to bear her flaws for the evening, in the absence of any more refinement, is what she had told herself last night, and this morning, the dew off the rose, she had no better answer with which to reassure herself. There had been some moments of silence, above the music, where they had almost smiled at each other. If it had not been for the earlier moments at the Meryton Assembly, she would have thought that there was an understanding to be had there, a shared amusement at the delight that humans can take in each other, despite the masks, the gloves, the prospect of death, his hand warm through the glove as it held hers through the movements of the dance. If it had not been for the knowledge that in his eyes, she was flawed, she would have counted him almost as a friend. But such was not the case, and instead, she enumerated to herself the ways in which she was falling short, and was shockingly aware of each. 

Shockingly aware too of the movements of each of the members of her family, looking at the house again as she approached, chimneys smoking invitingly, and windows open to observe her flightly sisters chase each other about the drawing room with ribbons, Mr Collins providing his views to Mary as her mother looked on approvingly, her father absenting himself in his study with his yellow covered books, and no sign of Jane yet. Jane had spent the night dancing, after all, in a much more energetic fashion, with eyes bright with excitement and only fastened on Mr Bingley, who seemed grateful for it too. At least there, Elizabeth felt, she had nothing to reproach. Mr Collins’ behaviour had been truly unmannerly, and she had had to sacrifice her night to Mr Darcy as a result, unforgiveable, even if Mr Darcy had proved a more congenial companion in his polite silence than expected. She had been quietly grateful for Mary, who had engaged him in conversation, catching her eye from across the hall, and removing him to another corner, with what she could only imagine was a question on a topic that both found of interest, for it had occupied him for at least half the night. Her mother, when Mr Darcy escorted her to the punch table, had been no better, merry in her speech and her conjectures about Mr Bingley, and Jane, and the benefits of a potential husband who had such large feet that he could not help but trip on his partner, to much tittering from the other ladies taking refreshment, and causing Mr Darcy to escort her abruptly away. 

Lydia and Kitty, as they retreated to the quieter end of the hall, making up to any redcoat who looked their way had been, she was equally certain, observed by Mr Darcy. They had been, as they were being now in the drawing room, vying with the fiddles for volume, with shrieks and reproachful shouts. Far from stopping them, Mr Bennett had turned his back on the whole, as he was doing now, and let them continue. Elizabeth could not have addressed the issue herself at the time, but she admitted to herself now, the morning after that she had been disappointed, although unsurprised, that he had not.

Mr Darcy had a sister, she recalled. She would wager a pretty penny that any sister of Mr Darcy would not have distinguished herself in such a manner, that a Darcy sister must be not only accomplished, but charitable and generous of spirit, and above all, of such a disposition to never do a thing of which society would disapprove. She would certainly not run amok in the manner in which Lydia was choosing to do even now. 

Elizabeth had not stopped then, as she was doing now, to ask herself why she was concerned as to what Mr Darcy was making of the Bennetts. With her hand on the door, and an ache vaguely about her head, she concluded that she was merely made uncomfortable by the prospect of further ridicule. That he should remove himself from the dancing hall at Netherfield, with the indifferent music, and the provincial company, and make her, and her family, into a story to tell the genteel townfolk was intolerable, and that was the beginning and end of it. Nothing further.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weeks after the Netherfield Ball. Departures are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave them all the 'virus. I didn't mean to, and then I did. I am very sorry.  
> When I say all, I mean all except Mr Collins, obviously. For in my canon, Mr Collins is an asymptomatic super spreader (pass it on). It's not his fault. He makes buttered toast for everyone, what a guy. He's a real catch...  
> Also, scenes may arise unpleasant to more than myself.

“My poor nerves,” Mrs Bennett complained, as Elizabeth entered the drawing room. “No one knows what I suffer to give you girls every opportunity, I’m sure. Elizabeth, fetch my smelling salts, do, for I have such a headache.”

Elizabeth obliged. She noted, as she did so, that Kitty and Lydia had halted in their merry circuit of the house, and Kitty’s cough once more echoed from the rafters. 

“Perhaps, mama,” she suggested, “it might be as well for us to spend a little while at home. It might do your head some good.”

“Indeed, madam,” chimed in Mr Collins, “Lady Catherine has often remarked to me that after a ball, the most appropriate thing to do is to take an opportunity to isolate oneself. Only then can one truly recover. And then, of course, when one is in a house with such delightful company,” this with a dimple at Mary, surprisingly enough, “why, ‘tis no hardship at all to do so.”

Elizabeth looked on, as Mary almost smiled, and then recovered herself, looking severely at Mr Collins instead. “Provided one uses the time wisely, I see no particular evil in from time to time shutting oneself off from one’s fellows. We did just, after all, walk down to papa’s tenants with the charitable bundles. If you, Mr Collins, will condescend to read over Fordyce with me this afternoon, I will agree to forego our usual perambulations.”

Elizabeth would have rolled her eyes, had she been in private, but forbore to do so in Jane’s absence.

Kitty’s cough once more echoed down the corridor. It was not the first day when her cough had troubled her so, and Elizabeth paid it little attention.

She paid it more on the morrow, when the cough was shared by almost all members of the household, saving only Mr Collins, with her mother continuing to complain of nerves, and her own headache not abating one jot. Her father, usually a stalwart, retired to his room, bookless, saying only that his constitution would not tolerate the presence of all and sundry, and they would have simply to fend for themselves as it may.

This state of affairs continued for a week, and then another, and a third, with Mr Collins assembling buttered toast and tea for all, after some strong words by Mary on the topic of charity beginning at home, which Mr Collins appeared to appreciate very much, and for the next day, the letter to Timothy was the topic of discussion, at least by Mary and Mr Collins, while the remainder of the family retired to their respective rooms, coughs and headaches.

Finally, each emerged from what they understood to have perhaps been an encounter with the dreaded ‘virus, which they had been spared so far, due to their adherence to isolation protocols. Each of them had been affected, saving Mr Collins, in some way or another, and each of them felt somewhat addlepated when they looked back on the past. It was unclear to Elizabeth quite how they had managed to emerge from the other end of such an ordeal. All she could recall was the ache in her head, which seemed to have oppressed her through the mattress and down to the earth below. Jane described it as if a large bullock had sat upon her chest, and a shadow of it remained. Kitty remarked that she would never complain of a cough anymore, for this had left her throat in shreds, and all she wanted now was cool ice, but it was not yet quite time for snow and it was dreadfully unfair of mother nature to be so un forthcoming when she was wanted. Mr and Mrs Bennett had expected their toil to be worse, but Mrs Bennett laughed it off as just a bad cold, and Kitty was making a meal out of a morsel, at which Mr Bennett remarked that such economy was to be praised, and not disparaged, and Mrs Bennett once more remarked on the unfairness of an entail, and Mr Collins, who had just re-entered the room, assured her that if he could change the law, he would, and hoped, with a meaningful look at Mary, to redress the issue in the most expedient manner allowing, should circumstances allow. Mary looked at her sisters then, and Lydia giggled. Mary had worn the brunt of the ‘virus the worst, the ills assailing her body night and day, such that she was quite a shadow of her former self at the end of it all, dresses hanging loose on her frame, and her cheeks pale when compared with the memory of her appearance at the Netherfield ball. Mr Collins had been most attentive to her above all others, even at its worst and despite all Jane and Elizabeth had had to say about propriety, reassuring them all that he had performed the same service for many in his parish during their bout with the same, and he should be delighted to provide every care to those who had a far greater claim on his time. Mary looked as if she would have argued, had she the breath to do it, but she could not, and so did not. 

The first visit by the Miss Bennetts to the village of Meryton was, therefore, a slow and cautious one. Mary had made it so far as the turn in the road, heavily supported by Mr Collins’ arm, but declared herself defeated at that point, and turned back, to reassurances by Mr Collins that her strength would return, that he had seen this before with the people of Rosings Park, and would read with her for the remainder of the morning, or she could rest on the couch while he prepared a light luncheon. Elizabeth would have scarce believed it had she not born witness to the same over the last few weeks, so greatly his behaviour differed to her expectations formed on his conversation of that first day of his visit. 

For a change, Lydia and Kitty were not talkative at all, there was no chatter of officers, and red coats, and Colonel Forster’s wife’s hairstyle and dress, no, rather Kitty was leaning on Lydia, and Lydia on Kitty, and silence was their companion, Lydia forbearing even to critique Kitty’s choice of bonnet, and breath pulling greatly on their masks as they walked. Elizabeth was mildly disturbed. Jane and she were scarcely any better, although at least they made an effort to point out salient changes in the trees, autumn colours deepening beyond those they had last seen, the countryside shifting into winter, crops harvested and the bristles left behind, in a vain effort to demonstrate to themselves that at least they had those powers of observation remaining, however weakened their legs and frames might be.   
However, on arrival at the town of Meryton, there was little to observe, for there were no people on the streets at all. At their last visit, there had been groups of girls in their lightest muslins, waiting to drop a well-placed handkerchief to catch the eye of redcoats about the town, matrons and gentlefolk exchanging news, children darting about the crowds, gaping at horses, and of course, the produce, and wares set out for inspection and trade, inviting inquiry within. Today, there were no inviting tubs of trade, nor gossiping matrons, nor young persons of their acquaintance, but only the redcoats, and the mud underfoot, and even the redcoats were a disappointment, as they were unknown to the Bennetts, they were so bold as to invite the Miss Bennetts to be off, as quick as they liked, and lastly they warned that there had been a general ‘virus outbreak, and many who had attended the Netherfield ball would attend balls no more, and Jane pressed Elizabeth’s arm very hard at that. They would not be argued with, not when even Jane asked that they should be able to visit their aunt Mrs Phillips, who lived in town there, with her most pleading looks, and the Miss Bennetts gave it up after a short time, turning for home, with some members of the party in high dudgeon.

“Tis not fair, Lizzy,” said Lydia. “I am so sick of the sight of our walls, and the sound of our voices that even our aunt’s drawing room would have been a welcome change. And now we have to go inside again and listen to Mr Collins and Mary. Lord, I’m so fagged. Cannot we stop?”

Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other. There was a tree near the road, with an assemblage of stones on which Lydia had been wont to play before she assumed the mantle of young maiden, and it was enough in the sun, and out of the wind that it seemed safe enough, and so they sat for a time. Elizabeth was half asleep as Kitty and Lydia discussed the likelihood that the redcoats missed them as much as they missed the redcoats, when Jane nudged her abruptly into full alert. The sounds of horse hooves brought the party to their feet. 

“Wickham!” crowed Lydia, for indeed it was he, and several of the officers.

“Ah,” he said, as he brought his mount to a halt, close enough that clods of mud flicked up on their dresses. “The Miss Bennetts! How perfectly charming. Delighted to see you all out, and Lydia, a simply wicked ribbon you have there, I do declare. You have not lost one of your number, have you?”

Elizabeth smiled, as Lydia simpered up at him. “Indeed, sir, no. Although it is true that we have all been through it with the ‘virus, our sister Mary is but at home. Thank you for the inquiry.”

One of the other officers murmured something in his ear. “We must ride on, I fear. We are doing the circuit, do you see, to ensure everyone stays to their own estates, and I’ve been asked by my friend Denny here to tell you to do the same. Were it up to me, Miss Elizabeth, we should all join you in your picnic here. There is nothing I like better than the company of young women. Nothing at all.”

The other officer murmured again, more insistently. “Yes, thank you Denny. Ladies, we must love you and leave you, I am afraid. I have your word that you’ll do as I say?”

“Oh yes, of course Wickham,” said Lydia in her most pleasing tones, that Jane and Elizabeth recognised as the ones she affected to charm her father into a favour for a new bonnet, or other frippery. “But I must have your word that you’ll come and visit to make sure that we’ve done it. Do I have your word sir? Do you promise me?”

Elizabeth was about to reprimand her younger sister for such forwardness, when Mr Wickham spoke. “Ah, Lydia, if I but could promise such a visit. But we are for Brighton, I fear. We’ve had word that the French may try their luck and we need to preserve you ladies against not just the invisible enemy, but those foreign devils too, eh? Never fear, Lydia, I am certain our paths shall cross again.”

Lydia pouted in a fashion that made Elizabeth’s palms itch, but Mr Wickham looked pensive. “I shall not forget your many kindnesses, I am sure.” 

“Thank you,” said Jane, “for doing your part to protect us all. We shall return home directly.”

From the other direction, there was a faint sound of carriage wheels, and horse hooves, and Mr Wickham looked alert. “Ladies,” he said, “until we meet again.” He grasped his horse’s reins in one hand, dug his heels in, and with some abruptness, he was away, the other officers following suit. 

“Tis not fair at all,” said Lydia, “first the ‘virus takes away our health, then our friends, and now the French take away our red coats! I shall miss them terribly. No one here is worth two pins to a man in regimentals, I dare say. Did you see his calves as he sat astride, Kitty? So well turned. So handsome. And now he is gone away. I shall cry, directly, I shall!”

“And I,” said Kitty, not to be outdone, crushing in one hand the hedge fern she had been toying with as they spoke. “I am just as upset as are you. And mama shall be too, I wager, once she hears! How she likes a man in uniform. Shall we go now, Jane? I see no point in the day anymore, what with the town being closed up like a hedgehog, and now the officers gone.”

Jane would have spoken, but the carriage had arrived. It was an enclosed elegant coach, drawn by well groomed black horses, and Elizabeth had a premonition of who would be inside, which proved correct.

“Ah,” said Caroline Bingley as the carriage continued to the cross roads, “Tis the Bennett girls, I do declare. Jane, my dear, a delight to see you. How fortunate an encounter!”

Looking the carriage over, Elizabeth noted the presence of several large travelling trunks, and her heart sank. Jane held her hand tightly. 

From the other window appeared Mr Bingley. “Miss Bennett! Driver, stop the coach.” 

The driver pulled the horses to a halt, and Mr Bingley’s head retracted, but only so that gentleman could open the door, and spring down.

“When we heard of the outbreak, we were terribly concerned, weren’t we? Darcy? Caroline? Lucia? Hurst, old boy?”

Assenting murmurs came from within the coach, and Mr Darcy’s head, and that of Lucia joined Caroline from the window. Elizabeth felt somewhat of a butterfly under a magnifying glass, as she was sure that each of the grass stains on her dress, and those of her sisters, would be noted and mocked once the heads retreated. From the corner of her eye, Jane was serenely smiling on Mr Bingley, as if such a thought had never and could never enter her head.

“Miss Bennett, I hope you were not too ill,” began that gentleman to address her sister.

“Lord,” interjected Lydia, “we were all fearful ill. I dare say you should not have known us at all, Mr Bingley, how different we were to that night at your ball. Kitty would not stop coughing and Mary was prodigiously sick all the time, and Jane looked as green as this leaf, I swear.”

Mr Bingley looked slightly taken aback at this. “I do trust, Miss Bennett, that your other sister and your parents have recovered?”

Jane nodded, and again, was on the verge of responding when Caroline spoke instead. “Such a fearful bore for you all to have such a hard time of it. We were fortunate enough to have avoided it. I dare say we had it in town, for none of us were ill to speak of. Relieved that you’ve pulled through Jane, and of course you too, dear Eliza.”

Elizabeth inclined her head, politely. “I am glad that you were spared that particular inconvenience, Caroline. Funerals are so tedious, are they not?”

She saw Mr Darcy stifle what could have been a laugh, and felt Jane squeeze her hand. 

“Quite. Tis a pity that we do not meet under better conditions,” said Mr Bingley, determined to regain control of the situation. “I must attend to one of the mills. I am to understand that a second wave of the ‘virus is upon us, and Meryton is not the only town being so affected. Perhaps it was wrong of us to have tempted fate so in holding the ball. There is scant comfort in knowing that in doing so, we were in keeping with all the latest medical advice, not when people we know have been impacted by the ‘virus. They are no less sick for any of that. Sometimes, it feels to me that we are like that chap in the Greek stories, forever pushing the same boulder up a hill, only to have it tumble down upon us once more.”

“Sisyphus,” said Mr Darcy, looking at Elizabeth with a challenging eyebrow, as if he was not entirely certain that she would recall the fable in question, for he was not to know that the Greek gods, and goddesses and their social follies were often discussed by Mr Bennett, who had himself written a small guide to the same, for the edification of his daughters, appropriately redacted in relation to subjects of which ladies should speak with gentlemen to whom they are not married, even their benevolent papas. 

Jane gazed proudly at Mr Bingley, as if he had said it. “When are you to return, sir?”

“Yes, Mr Bingley, for you must hold another ball! We are to be so sad with the militia gone, and this beastly ‘virus, that you simply must lift our spirits, do!” cried Lydia again, despite Elizabeth’s warning looks. 

The Bennetts all looked inquiringly on the Bingley party. 

Caroline smiled, but with no warmth in her eyes. “I am afraid another ball would not be quite the thing, Miss Bennett.”

A murmur of ‘damn stupid things, balls,” was heard from inside the carriage, and Mrs Hurst raised her eyebrows at her sister in a mute appeal. 

“Miss Bennetts. Jane. I do not know how long I will be required at the mills, for when one calls, it is likely the others will find themselves facing the same predicament before long. And then, there is the snow and the weather to think on, with the roads the way they are, lacking maintenance while this epidemic rages. You should not count on us before spring, I am sorry to say,” said Mr Bingley, and while he did look sorry to say it, it was nothing to the outrage expressed by the youngest Bennett sisters. Lydia flatly sat down on a stump and Kitty after a swift look followed suit. Elizabeth held fast to Jane’s arm, as if to reassure her that at least she had one sister who would not be a source of embarrassment. 

“Sir, I am as sorry to hear you say that as you are to say it, I expect,” said Jane. “however, I would not expect any less. We shall look for you no earlier than the spring, then.”

It was bravely spoken, Elizabeth thought, and perhaps even sincere. It was difficult to know with one so reticent as Jane. She smoothed out her sister’s sleeve where she had grasped it.

“We shall think of you often before that, though, I expect, is it not so, Jane?” said Elizabeth, but Jane would not be drawn, only inclining her head slightly and allowing a gentle smile to emerge. Elizabeth could not help but think that she saw a shade of disappointment flicker across Mr Bingley’s face, but it could not be helped.

“First Mr Wickham, now Mr Bingley,” sighed Lydia, and Elizabeth knew that she did not imagine the narrowing of Mr Darcy’s eyes at the mention of the first gentleman’s name. “All the nice men are leaving us. ‘Tis not to be borne, I am sure.” Kitty patted her shoulder in a manner intended to be consoling, but leaving green stains from the fern she had crushed, to an internal cringe from Elizabeth, and a titter of amusement from Mrs Hurst, who received a prod from Caroline’s elbow. 

“We shall drink to your good health at the New Year,” said Mr Bingley, “and hope to be back before too long. May we all meet again in a healthier and happier time.” With that, he swung himself back into the carriage, and tapped the roof to let the driver know to ride on. 

Caroline and Mrs Hurst waved from the window, as the driver flicked the back of the horses, and they began to move. Mr Darcy did not speak, but nor did he shift his gaze from Elizabeth, until the carriage drew out of sight, and she was hence unable to tell whether Jane had waved, or spoken, or in any way displayed her regard for Mr Bingley and the manner of her bereftness at this departure. 

Elizabeth found herself bitterly regretting that she had not the silence of the outward journey with which to examine her walking companion, for Lydia would continue at loud length her complaints at the unfairness of a universe that would deprive her of both redcoats and the opportunity to dance with redcoats, skipping blithely over the inconvenient fact that the epidemic had once more ravaged their village, that she herself had been very unwell, and possibly persons of her acquaintance in town were dead. Not to mention that her most beloved eldest sister Jane was trying even now to demonstrate a sensible comportment in the face of a most grievous actual ill, the departure of a man with whom she was, at least in Elizabeth’s eyes, a fair way to falling in love. At least Elizabeth thought she was. It was always difficult to tell with Jane, who had too much at times of the compulsion to practice the stiff upper lip. It was not even possible to contemplate the scenery against the backdrop of her youngest sister’s complaints.

It was somewhat of a relief to enter the Longbourn drawing room, and compose herself on the sofa, with a soothing cup of tea, at least until her mother joined her. 

“Such news, Lizzy,” she said, in tones of portent. “You will never guess it. No, you shall not, so I shall tell you. Mr Collins and Mary are engaged!”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sisters Bennett do not always see eye to eye

The house was in general confusion. Mrs Bennett could not be coaxed down from her state of rapture. She in one minute declared Mary her dear sweet girl, and in the next reprimanded her for reading, and not attending on her fiancé, despite the fact that he was in the next room, expounding on the duties of a spouse as he saw it to one who had been married for years that felt longer than they ought. Kitty and Lydia had been sent once more to the village to endeavour to find Mr Collins’ favoured ham haunch for dinner, despite the isolation order, the lack of militia, and a professed lack of breath, only to be recalled at the gate to come and consult about Mary’s trousseau, or lack thereof, as Mary had never been one to stockpile the accoutrements of young womanhood dreaming of a groom and a house of one’s own. Scarce wonder that Mr Bennett had taken shelter in the library, or that Mr Collins had retreated thither also. 

Mary cast many a pleading look on Elizabeth and Jane, as she was made into a mannequin for the remainder of the day, but to no avail, her mother had her way, and by the end of it, Mary was wishing that the subject of matrimony had never been broached. 

After dinner, when Mr Collins had retired to his room, the Bennetts to theirs, and the youngest to giggle over the converted nursery room fire, Elizabeth undertook a mild interrogation, for she had kept her tongue for what seemed like an eternity, but was merely a matter of hours, but could hold no longer.

“Are you in your right senses, Mary? I do mean, I thank you for biting the bullet, as it were, and appeasing mama, and no doubt Mr Collins, but such a man? To knit yourself to for the remainder of eternity?” she said, fixing her sister with a most severe look.

“Elizabeth,” interjected Jane, “you do forget yourself. Mr Collins has been nothing but amiable and attentive to us all over the last terrible times. Why, he has been the very model of a gentleman and a very eligible spouse for any woman.”

Elizabeth stoutly ignored her. “I do not say that he has not been a very kind cousin to us all. But marriage? Mary, really. Do be serious. You have never declared yourself to be interested in any man before. Nor taken any steps to seek out the company of any fellow. Lydia and Kitty have in vain tried to tempt you to the dancefloor, and Jane and I have had no interest from you in our distillates and stillroom, and certainly none in our part of the laundry. And now we are to understand that Mr Collins, of all people, has entered your heart and you are to be a minister’s wife? Do you know the enterprise on which you embark?”

Mary took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I do wonder, sister, whether you take delight in viewing us all as being incapable of independent thought. Think, for a moment, and do try to see something of the way in which I see things. If you think for a minute, there is nothing that I have loved better all my life than reading. Reading, and playing, and talking about the things I have read, something in which you rarely indulge me. I know well, for you have taken pains to point it out often enough, that I am not the world’s cleverest woman. Mr Collins listens, Elizabeth, where you will not. He asks for my opinion, and he considers it and he discusses it with me and we come to a view together. That alone would have been enough to recommend him, even had it not been for his kind attentions when I was so unwell. When we all were, sister, as you recall, and none of us truly able to care for the other in familial manner, he took up that mantle.”

“Gratitude, Lizzy,” remarked Jane, “is a wholesome beginning to a marriage, you will own. Not an unusual one, either, if mama is to be believed. You have heard her speak on it at some length, have you not?”

“Yes, but, Mary, he is such a nothing sort of man. So very lukewarm in appearance, and temperament. How can you fancy yourself likely to be content?” Elizabeth persisted, brow furrowed.

Mary sat back in her chair, away from Elizabeth’s accusative look. “You cannot fathom that us plain folk should be worthy of love as well as the handsome ones, can you? Oh, I am very well aware, thanks to our mother, and all of my very loving sisters, that I have remained very much the ugly duckling. No, please do not insult me or yourself by asserting it to be otherwise, I will not have it. He may not be the handsomest man of your acquaintance, but I fail to see how that is relevant to me. Be satisfied with the attentions of your handsome men, and I will be satisfied with the one who cares for me, and I for him. The next thing that you had better say, dear sister, is congratulations, or this conversation is at an end.”

Elizabeth was quite dumbfounded, and stood for a moment in silence. Jane was swift to fill it. “I am delighted to hear that you care for him, Mary, and he for you. And of course, Mama is so very pleased, that I dare say you shall be quite the favourite, if you can bear it. I am very happy for you.”

She leant down and placed a kiss on Mary’s brow, and made her goodnights.  
Elizabeth and Mary were left, in the flickering candlelight. 

“I truly do not mean to be insulting, Mary. I am simply seeking to establish whether you will be happy enough with him, or whether mama has pushed you into a situation which you are accepting, for the good of us all. I know how she can be, when she wants her way, and I would not want you marrying simply for her sake or for ours. Are you truly certain?”

Mary looked away from Elizabeth, up into the ceiling rose. “If you insist on asking, I will tell you. When I saw him, in the midst of my fever, fetching me my toast, and tea, without a care for his own safety, and when I fell asleep to the sound of his voice, reading over the metaphysical poets, I was quite determined that I would have the same, if it were to be in my power, for the rest of my natural life. I cannot imagine any other man in the whole of England who would make me happy. He may not be to your liking, Lizzie, but he is to mine. Very much. I trust this is sufficient to suffice on the topic, for I would prefer not to speak of it again. Please?”

Elizabeth had felt herself blush hotly, whether from embarrassment, or shame she knew not, while her sister spoke, and she wished the moment to be over, more fervently than she had wished for the evenings at Netherfield to conclude. “Truly, sister, I am satisfied. I wish you joy, even if I do not understand it.”

“Thank you. I should be most grateful if you would assist, however, with mama. While I do wish to be married, I do not need to be converted into a peony rose to do so. If you truly wish me joy, you will find some ways to occupy her attention, so that I and William,” and at his first name, Mary blushed, “may make our way to the altar as ourselves.”

Elizabeth clasped her hand warmly, and made her promise, and so the sisters ended the day on friendly terms after all.

Elizabeth was as good as her word, and found many occupations for her mother under guise of improving her health after the ‘virus, while Mary made her plans with Mr Collins for a wedding in January, after he had performed his duties for his parish over the Christmas period. 

But then, as the initial flurry of activity wore to a close, and the cold weather drew in, and Mr Collins had departed to do the same, the house became a dull reflection of itself, and Elizabeth found herself watching not Mary, but Jane. She had not seemed so very troubled by Mr Bingley’s departure, after all, at the time, and Mrs Bennett had refrained from making odious comparisons between the girls’ respective powers to attract husbands, despite the best efforts of the ‘virus to the contrary, but now, in the cold of the beginning winter, Jane’s usual equanimity was wearing thin. Twice, Mrs Bennett’s mild complaint that her tea was cold, and her biscuit too crumbly, reduced Jane to tears, not that she gave way there and then, but Elizabeth knew the signs from long observation. Lydia’s request for a loan of pocket money for a new ribbon for yet another bonnet caused Jane to sigh for a good half an hour, while she reminded Lydia that the militia were long gone, that summer bonnets were not worn during winter, and that she would have changed her mind on the styling in another six weeks, let alone six months, and she had much better occupy her time with quilts and curtains, which were a more practical use of time. She took to drawing melancholy portraits of a gentleman who could have been any number of their acquaintances, although Elizabeth suspected only one. In short, Elizabeth suspected her to be pining, although on pressing, Jane only admitted to feeling regret that Mr Bingley was not to be with them for Christmas, and miss the countryside in the snow. 

Over breakfast, therefore, and in earshot of their mama, Elizabeth took the liberty of suggesting that as Jane must now have been taken to have past her infectious period, it would be safe enough for her to travel to London without fear of transmission of the virus, or contracting it, for the worst had already happened. Jane would therefore have the pleasure of staying with her aunt and uncle and their children at Cheapside for Christmas, and, if luck should have it, visiting with the BIngleys. The manner in which Jane’s eyes lighted gave the lie to her earlier equanimity, and Elizabeth privately congratulated herself on her deductions. Meanwhile, Mrs Bennett was quick enough to take the hint, and Mr Bennett quick enough to crumble beneath combined persuasion, writing to Mr Gardiner directly, and so the only displeased creatures about the Bennett breakfast table were the youngest daughters, who still imagined themselves in love with various members of the militia. 

“Should you not like to go also, my dear?” questioned Mr Bennett of Elizabeth as they removed the breakfast plates to the kitchen, and began the dismal washing up once more, and Elizabeth quizzed herself for a moment, and shook her head.

“I should greatly desire to visit London, it is true, but at a time, and in company, where I can view the arts, and the antiquities to my heart’s content. To sit and take in a play, or a concert. To listen to an address by the Royal Society. All of these things would give me joy, but none of them can happen, so I understand, for at least another year or so. What would I do, therefore, with London and what would London do with me? No, I should like well enough to see my aunt and uncle, but I can wait.” She flicked a playful splash of suds at her papa, and he whipped the tea towel at her, as if she was a child once more, and the son he had needed. And so it was that Jane went to London without Elizabeth for Christmas. Worse things have happened.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane goes to London, and snow comes to Meryton. Lightly buttered toast is on the menu.

Miss Elizabeth Bennett  
Longbourn, Meryton  
December 17th, from Miss Jane Bennett, 25 Gracechurch St, Cheapside, London  
My dear sister

It was very good of you to insist that I visit with our aunt and uncle and their family in London. Truly, it is most diverting to have to attend to any number of extremely important issues, such as whether Johnny has indeed taken the favourite bat and ball and lost it, or Susan Ann has used the best tablecloth as a tent. I cannot be sad, or dwell over much on my own life when there is so much to occupy me with all the little concerns of our little cousins. I cannot thank you enough for shouldering my part of what is undoubtedly a very busy household at Longbourn, as our mother seeks to model Mary into her version of a bride, and Mary pushes back at every turn, if I know them both rightly. I promise to do the same for you, should you ever need such a respite.

I hope that I have been some use to my aunt and uncle here. They are very burdened by the isolation orders, as you would expect. The amount of washing to be done, when the children come in and out, to manage any additional contagion, and the way in which the children’s movements have been so restricted is keenly felt by all. They have retained one of their servants, who did not wish to return to Scotland, and truly, I do not know how they would have gotten on without that help, for the children, lovely though they are, are indeed very energetic. Our uncle has his moments, where he must call for order, to have enough quiet to attend to his work, and he seems to have days where he is continually poring over his books, and then days when he is attendant on his stores until late in the night, but he assures us all that it is both enjoyable and for the good. My aunt has sought to establish her own version of a grammar school, as of course, the children are not with a tutor at this time, nor is there any prospect of sending Johnny to one for quite some time. It is intensely satisfying to help with this, although I confess I was not half as dutiful a scholar as our little cousins are, but neither was I so circumscribed in my movements when we were pupils, and I well remember our times playing truant, although you may not, you were always better than me at learning. 

I should very much like to have children of my own, one day. But for the moment, this will suit very well. Of course, to have children, one would need a suitable partner, would one not? And for the present, I am not so blessed.

On another topic entirely, I did pay a visit on the Bingleys, or rather, I should say on Caroline and Mrs Hurst. Caroline was very welcoming indeed, and we had a very nice visit. I am to understand that she has been in correspondence with your friend Charlotte Lucas, about the goings on in Meryton, and was very well aware that we had all suffered from the ‘virus, and was very sympathetic, and insisted that I take some of her own handstitched masks for little Johnny and Susan Ann, with the extra layering, with the new tightly stitched cloth, for which my aunt was indeed very grateful. She did promise to call on us at Gracechurch St before Christmas, should the current ’virus transmission rate remain low, but she has not done so yet. She also promised to bring her brother with her, should she pay such a visit, but he was not to home. 

I confess that I was disappointed at that last, and that she could not give me intelligence of his missions. I was very interested, as you may have gathered, in how that gentleman was managing the mills, and his workers, during this latest surge of the ‘virus. During the last pleasant evening we all spent together at Netherfield, the memories of which linger still, we spoke at length about the challenges he faces in keeping his workers safe, and productive, the better able to continue to produce the masks, and other protective equipment that serve us all better in these times. He does worry so, and places his own health at risk, I must think, in travelling so often to have oversight of his mills himself. I cannot of course speak for his workers, but it would give me prodigious cheer to see his face once more. And here I feel compelled to tell you to not smile in that knowing way, Elizabeth, but I am not there, and you may have whatever expression you chuse.

I do not think that you would care for London yourself at the moment, Lizzie, with all its doors and windows shut tight against the cold and the populace. There is no relief to be had for one such as yourself by visiting the inside galleries, and theatres, for they are all closed, and my aunt tells me that the actors, and musicians are all returned to the countrysides from whence they came, to beg a place at whatever warm hearth they have claim upon. My uncle has directed us against walking in particular quarters of the city, where I am given to understand that people congregate for daily hand outs by the church and the poorhouses, and who have been known to turn to violence, with carriages overturned, and set afire, where hand outs have not been forthcoming, or too little. Riots, too, before the Houses of Parliament, for the people cry out for official intervention, for an official dole as I understand it, but none comes. My uncle is reluctant to be pressed on the subject, but I wager it has to do with the level of taxation, and the reluctance of the titled to give payment where no income is due and no return on investment expected to them in particular. If father were here, I would guess that he would not be silent. When we walk on the streets where uncle thinks it safe, there are few people there, and those who we do meet, as strangers must, have distrustful eyes above their masks, and I find that most uncongenial, compared with our dear Meryton where our eyes knew how to smile and give cheer the one to another, to know that we were united in our struggles, though apart. The sleet makes a walk in any park that is open quite unpleasant, even to the children who long for a good romp. I have suggested to my aunt that they should come for a good long visit to Longbourn to let them at to pasture, as it were, and she did not find the thought objectionable. Uncle’s concerns are safely burbling along, he tells me, and not something for a young lady such as myself to concern myself with, but he would be glad of a change of scenery, he says. I cannot think how to start a conversation on that topic with him, so I let it be, but it does gall me, Lizzy, that I be so dismissed. Mr Bingley did not find me beneath confidence in that arena, and for that, as much as anything else I miss his company.

I shall leave off here, as the children call for company and aunt has a headache. I shall return before the wedding, of course and in time to wish you a better new year.  
Yours etc.

“Good news, I trust?” asked a gentleman winningly, and Elizabeth looked up to find Mr Wickham once more at her side. His eyes twinkled delightfully at her and his brown curls invited the unwary to rumple them, if only they had the nerve to defy the ‘virus, and the dictates of society. For once more the militia were stationed at Meryton, the threat at Brighton having been investigated and dismissed as nothing but the talk of gossipy sailors, and Lydia was once again only able to hold conversations that chiefly involved redcoats and their doings. Since Lydia was not free to go to the redcoats in Meryton, she had inveigled her mother to invite the redcoats to her, and Longbourn was full this afternoon not only of Christmas and bridal preparations, but also of young men, and it would be difficult to identify which of the three were more excited at the prospect, Lydia, Kitty or Mrs Bennett. Elizabeth was only moderately enchanted, as it was her turn to serve the tea, and buttered toast, and her father had retreated to his study, leaving the task entirely to her and Mary, as the other three were not to be prevailed upon. She had, therefore, retreated to the kitchen, at the first opportunity in order to read her letter uninterrupted, which pleasant task she had just completed. 

She smiled back as best she could, for she had been reminded more than once by her mother that no one cared for a maiden who always appeared put upon, and Mr Wickham had, by the simple act of earlier volunteering to carry around the teacakes, made himself a particular favourite.

“It is a letter from my dear sister Jane, which is always welcome. Do you have any sisters, sir?”

Mr Wickham adopted an expression of melancholy. “No, Miss Bennett, I am not so fortunate. And so, you see, I am doomed to seek out the company of young ladies whenever I can. It would have been very delightful, I think, to grow up in such a family. But alas, ‘twas not my lot. My childhood, as I mentioned to you previously, was largely spent in the company of Mr Darcy, senior. The finest of men, Miss Bennett. Would the same could be said for his son!”

Elizabeth sighed, as she folded the letter and placed it back in her reticule. “Would you be so good as to assist me once more? My sisters have deserted me, quite.” She motioned to the tea tray.

Mr Wickham did not notice, adopting an attitude at the kitchen window, and staring into the white snow beyond, currently festooning the gates and trees of Longbourn, and making morning duties quite difficult. “I recall one Christmas at Pemberley, that was their estate, I should have mentioned, where we had a jolly time in the snow. Darcy and I, the younger that is, built forts in the snow, and we tempted the Lambton boys into a snow battle. Ah, such times as we had then! His sister, young Georgiana, would make us hot cocoa when we came indoors, victorious. We were quite the family then, or so I thought.”’

Elizabeth tried once more. “Mr Wickham, the tea tray, if you would?”

But to no avail, as Mr Wickham continued to talk. “Ah, but when we grew up, all of this was to change. How Mr Darcy would have despaired to see his son deny me the opportunity to minister to the village of Lambton, to the men with whom I had played as children! To know that his own son had even denied me shelter at such a time as this! It would have broken his heart.”

“Quite, Mr Wickham. I am most sympathetic, I assure you. If you would take that tray of lightly buttered toast, I will manage with the tea.” 

At that, for who amongst us can deny the attraction of a lightly buttered piece of toast, Mr Wickham turned, all smiles once more. “Of course, my dear Miss Bennett. I feel most domestic, and am very obliged to you for letting me feel, once more, part of a family.”

Indeed, he did look very much the part of a brother, or more, Elizabeth owned to herself, as she poured tea, carefully, at an arms’ length for the redcoats, and the assorted other tea party guests, and occasionally met his eye across the room, as he passed about the tray of lightly buttered toast. She was unsurprised at his proposing to the company at large that they should have a merry snow interlude, before consuming any further tea, or toast or cakes, and also unsurprised at her younger sisters insisting on being included in the party of snow throwers, despite their recent illness or that their mother should consider it a capital idea for all, and declare that should she be but a few years younger, she would take part herself.

For her own part, she assumed the role of Georgiana, and watched from a window in the warmth, as her sisters and the redcoats rolled snowballs, and merrily pelted each other for all they were worth, watching the pots boil for afterwards. Mr Wickham was very solicitous of her younger sisters, for the which she was exceedingly grateful, stepping in quite literally in front of Lydia for her defence when the snow throwing became wild, and ensuring that when she fell, as she invariably did in the snow, she fell upon his person, to many cries of gratitude from that young person. She caught his eyes after that noble act, and he seemed almost embarrassed to be seen being so kind. 

When the party returned inside, wet and cold, she made sure to give him the first cup of tea, sweetened to his liking, and a warm smile alongside it, for his trouble, and his hands were warm through her gloves when he took it.


	17. Chapter 17 (One Miss Bennett no more)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Bennett is happy. Others are not.

“Mary, you look almost pretty,” Mrs Bennett commented to that young person, as she pulled the final curl from its rags, and arranged them neatly, inserting greenhouse orange flower here, and white ribbon there. Mary met Elizabeth’s eyes in the mirror, and minutely shrugged. Lydia and Mrs Bennett had insisted on curls for the wedding, and Mary had not had the energy left to resist, nor had she thought it worth the effort, she had privately remarked to Elizabeth the previous evening as the girls retired, Mary with head festooned with various rags and ribbons to achieve the necessary effect.  
“I shall be glad to be done with all of this,” said Mary. “for once we are at Hunsford, I will by necessity be required to comport myself in a manner befitting a clergyman’s wife, and I should not think that curls have much to do with it.”

“Oh, Mary,” sighed Mrs Bennett. “You have not only your congregation to consider, but also Lady Catherine. Do promise me that you will try to present yourself well, that is all I ask. When I think of the way in which you drab and draggle around the place here, well, that is all I can say. Do try!”

Mary’s eyes met Elizabeth in the mirror. “I shall not make any such promise, mama. I do not intend to change myself for either William, who has the notion to marry me as I am, nor Lady Catherine, who shall have to take me as she finds me. I do not consider feathers and furbelows necessary to the case.”

Mrs Bennett threw her hands in the air. “Well. It shall not be to my account, that is all I can say. I have done my best. Lord knows I have, but you will have your own way. As you always have. I never did think that this morning would come, Mary, and here you are, ahead of all your sisters. There.” She patted Mary’s lips with some blotted geranium powder, and, job completed to her satisfaction, squeezed her shoulders, and pronounced her ready. Then she turned herself on Elizabeth. 

The wedding itself was a relatively small affair, it being full winter, and the village of Meryton being still somewhat subdued after the latest wave of the infection. Still, the militia turned out in full force, and more than one Bennett sisters’ heart was cheered by the sight of the redcoats filling the church, and swarming about the door as the happy couple emerged, for happy indeed they were. Mr Collins had even stumbled a small amount over his vows, so lost was he in the sight of Mary’s curls, or perhaps the geranium, and Mary had even smiled at one point, briefly. The sun had briefly shone on the assembly in the churchyard, and the snow sparkled brilliantly. 

Mary had politely informed Mr Collins that they would be embarking on their journey to Huntsford immediately on the ceremony’s completion, given that it would not be possible to hold a breakfast for friends and family without exposing all to further risks, and he had smilingly agreed to her proposal, as she had agreed to his, and so it was that the Bennetts farewelled their first departing daughter with tears on the part of Mrs Bennett, and none on the part of anyone else, from the edge of the church grounds. The carriage moved sprightly, despite the many packages with which Mrs Bennett had squeezed in around their luggage, and Mary did not look in any way displeased as she waved them all good-bye, nor did Mr Collins. 

Jane held Elizabeth’s hand warmly, as they walked the road home to Longbourn. Lydia and Kitty were making enough conversation to keep the Bennetts busy, so the older daughters made none.  
“When I am married, I want the militia to make me a sword arch. Can you imagine,” bubbled Lydia to Kitty, “Denny would have to stretch on tiptoes to reach! But how exciting to be underneath the swords. I daresay I will marry an officer in a beautiful red coat. I shall wear my best muslin, of course.”

“Oh, do not talk such rot,” said Kitty. “You would freeze.”

“Pshaw,” said Mrs Bennett. “You could always wear a cloak over it. You would look lovely, my dear. Would she not, Mr Bennett?”

The gentleman made a sound of affirmation. “First, catch your fish, my dear. Then plan your wedding, would be my request, for my part. However, I dare say that you shall all be at more liberty to do so, now that Mrs Bennett can no longer opine on your likely eviction on my death. Is it not so, my dear?”

Mrs Bennett looked as if she could have cheerfully throttled him. However, she restrained herself from doing so. “It is very true that your sister Mary has made a most advantageous marriage. More advantageous than I ever expected from her, but there, that is life for you. A series of surprises after one another, and some of them are bound to be good, for all that. However,” and here Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, “I do think it very unfortunate that Mr Bingley was unable to take some time away from his busy offices to spend Christmas and New Year at Netherfield. I do still think, Jane, that you did not try enough there. You must let a gentleman know that you are, well, interested. Particularly in these days when life is so uncertain. What if Mr Bingley were to die without marrying you! My dear, ‘tis not good enough.”

Elizabeth noted Jane wipe discreetly at her eyes with the hand that was not in her own. “Mama, were there any militia at your own wedding, do you recall?” she asked, and pressed Jane’s hand back.  
“Indeed, yes, there were,” replied Mrs Bennett. “All my favourites turned out, do you recall Mr Bennett? Indeed, I dare say there was more than one disappointed gentleman amongst their number, and I do say I like a redcoat still. In my heart of hearts, I do. Now, here we are. Will you girls make a walk of it into Meryton, and see if the militia are there and look in on your aunt?”

Lydia and Kitty did not wait for a further invitation and quickened their pace away from Longbourn. Jane smiled sweetly at her mother, although Elizabeth did not know how she managed it, and suggested Mrs Bennett retire to rest after the excitement and toils of the morning, and that lady as quickly took the suggestion to heart. Mr Bennett farewelled his daughters, and retired to his orchids and greenhouse.

The town was full of life, in the form of young men in red coats, and as many young ladies in their cloaks as close as they could manage to the same colour, making eyes at each other from a socially appropriate distance, and smaller groups with more gumption making conversation. To neither Jane nor Elizabeth’s surprise, their sisters were in the latter category, conversing with Denny, and Wickham, and Mr Wickham was heavily beset by questions from both the younger Bennetts about how well he liked the service, and the singing, and whether he would wear his red should he ever be married, and he was smiling politely at all, although his look brightened, Elizabeth flattered herself, when she and Jane joined the party. 

“I am sure,” said that gentleman, “that it would not signify much which colour I wore. For do not all ladies chiefly remember the dresses of other young ladies? I wager, back me on this Denny, that you can not tell me what colour coat Mr Collins was wearing, even though he was resident in your very house until this morning. What do you say to that, Miss Lydia?”

“Oh, do not be tiresome. Who wants to speak of Mr Collins, anyway? He’s not half as handsome as any man in the militia.”

Mr Wickham smiled and raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth pointedly, before he turned back to Lydia with a more knowing look. “A wager is a wager, Miss Lydia. If you cannot make it out, you must pay the forfeit.” 

“I did not agree to any such wager, anyhow. What manner of thing is your forfeit, Wickham? And what do I win if I do?” Lydia untied her cloak, and began to worry at the ribbon. “Oh, it does not matter. I am certain his coat was brown. He’s such a boring person, with no remarkableness about him, that I bet his coat was as dull as the rest of him.”

Mr Wickham smiled triumphantly. “I cannot pass judgement on the character of your cousin, Miss Lydia, but I can tell you that his coat was not brown, but black. And your forfeit is that you must allow me to kiss your hand.”

Before either Elizabeth or Jane could move to stop her, Lydia removed her glove, and presented it for its playful salute, and giggled terribly once it was done, as Mr Wickham performed a deep theatrical bow. “La, is that all, sir? You are very droll.”

“Lydia,” said Jane, “I do believe we are expected at our aunt’s shortly. Do put your glove back on, before you catch chill. Mr Wickham, Mr Denny, good day.” 

With that, Jane linked elbows with her sisters before any more kisses could be bestowed, Elizabeth on her right, and Lydia on her left, and Kitty scuttled along behind, with many a backward glance at the officers as they were marched along the streets of Meryton to tea with a reminder on manners, ‘virus risks, and the line between proper maidenly behaviour and that of a hoyden. Privately, Elizabeth wondered what such a kiss would feel like, if bestowed with slightly less flamboyance, as the gentleman in question looked up at her with melting brown eyes, rather than raised waggling eyebrows and smacking lips, and resolved that if she should ever be so fortunate, that she would be unlikely to giggle at the sensation. 

Except that, she recalled as they entered Aunt Phillip’s townhouse, Mr Wickham’s eyes were blue.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matters matrimonial are discussed (most chastely)

“And this,” effused Mr Collins, “shall be your room while you stay with us, dearest sister Elizabeth. Lady Catherine herself has called this room ‘quite pleasant’, although she would prefer the wallpaper a paler shade of purple.”

Kitty giggled, until Elizabeth’s reproachful glance quelled her.

“However, my dear wife, and I of course agree, feel that the dark purple is restful on one’s eyes. I would be grateful for your views on the same. The closet you will find at the end there, for your belongings. Lady Catherine had suggested a cunning novelty, to build the cupboard across the corner, so as to create a triangle, but Mary thought it best to stay the course with the tried and tested form. I dare say I agree. Your sister, my wife, is full of many such practical tips. Although it has only been two months, two weeks and almost two days since we were wed, I already count myself as among the most fortunate men in England.”

“Mr Collins,” called his helpmeet from below the stairs. “Were you intending to show Kitty to her room also, or are you talking again over the cupboard?”

Mr Collins blushed. “Now, my dear sister Kitty, if you would be so good to follow me?” 

Mr Collins ushered Kitty out of the purple, and closed the door behind him. Elizabeth sat on the bed, admiring the quilting, and wondered at the way in which her life was unfolding. Here was her least domestically inclined sister, occupied in home making, and cupboard design, and turning her thoughts to colour matching where she had never been so inclined while dwelling at Longbourn. Or perhaps it was that she had not been given an opportunity to be so inclined, while so dwelling. ‘Twas most curious indeed. She gave an experimental bounce, and pronounced the bed sound, and went below in search of Mary, tea and lightly buttered toast, not necessarily in that order.

The said two months, two weeks and sundry days and hours had not been as peaceful at Longbourn as Elizabeth had hoped for. Elizabeth and Jane had both expected that once Longbourn’s future had been secured, Mrs Bennett would turn her maternal instincts onto Mary and the production of an heir, but this was not the case. Rather, Mrs Bennett’s dialogue revolved about the necessity of using Jane’s good looks before they faded, to find her a suitable husband worthy of them, and Elizabeth’s youthful vivacity to do likewise, before it turned into bitter spinsterdom, Mrs Bennett’s words, not Elizabeth’s. Many a good piece of lightly buttered toast had gone cold while Mrs Bennett rehearsed her complaints that Jane had not done all she could to charm Mr Bingley while in town, and that Elizabeth was not seeking out what opportunities she could. Many a redcoat had been invited to tea to find themselves the recipient of a monologue on the elder Bennett girls’ virtues, and suitability for military wifedom, to the point where Jane had found herself leaving the room at the sight of the colour, although Elizabeth would at least remain so long as to determine the identity of the redcoat in question and whether they could provide decent conversation in face of her mother’s monologue, before finding that she had an urgent need to be elsewhere. Lydia and Kitty were only too delighted at the state of affairs, particularly on those afternoons where both their elder sisters chose to be elsewhere, and many a new bonnet, glove and mask had been constructed with military insignia prominently positioned. So much so, in fact, that Lydia became quite the fount of knowledge in the family upon the subject, and would tease Kitty when she misnamed them.

By the end of February, when the country had started to thaw, and reports of the ‘virus had slowed, and all the redcoats – even the twinkling eye’d Mr Wickham - had demonstrated their inability to outtalk the Bennett matriarch, Elizabeth determined that as tiresome as Mr Collins’ company could be, it could be no worse than being paraded before the military like a horse for hire, and requested of her papa a trip to confirm the health of her sister. 

“La! If you are so determined to torture yourself, Lizzy, I daresay you could stay at home, and hang the bother of the trip. But if you will have it, I shall not stop you. Mind, you shall have to tell your mama. And do be a good girl and take Kitty. She has been very good, but I wager one more afternoon of Lydia’s crowing over her for not knowing some arcane military rule and she will be at her with a butter   
knife. I cannot be having with that, Lizzie! I shall write to Mr Collins directly.”

Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised at the warmth of her reception from Mrs Collins, who smiled at her more times in the space of her first afternoon there than she had in the last year. Lightly buttered toast with honey from their own hives was served in her parlour, and Mr Collins made up his share of the conversation with sensible remarks, much less punctuated with commentary on Lady Catherine’s   
remarks than had been the case in Longbourn, although it could not be helped when the conversation strayed in that direction. 

“Cousin,” said Kitty, “I did not see so many militia along the road as are quartered in Meryton just now. Do you happen to know whether any of the nth Brigade are about? For we have seen ever so many since you took Mary away from Longbourn and I would be delighted to share news with them of their friends in the divisions quarted at Meryton over winter.”  
Mary interjected, with a proprietorial hand on her husband’s arm. “You must call him your brother now, Kitty. He is cousin no longer.”

If Lydia had been there, no doubt Kitty would have rolled her eyes, or twitted Mary back, but as she was not, she did not. Elizabeth, for her part, was occupied watching the warm look Mary’s husband was bestowing upon her, and the blush rising on Mary’s cheek, who would not turn to face him and meet it. It would certainly be the subject of a letter to Jane, who had drawn the short straw and stayed behind. Mary had, it seemed, found more of her voice in the world outside Longbourn than she had ever had opportunity to in that location.

“Brother, then. Are there any redcoats about?” questioned Kitty, despite Elizabeth’s nudge of her foot.

“Oh, sister. Lady Catherine, in her wisdom, has forbade the overwintering by the militia in our county. She says, and I think rightly, that with the ‘virus so prevalent, it cannot be wise to allow a large campful of strangers, no matter if they are in the service of our country, to socialise freely at a time when our bodies are already weakened by the previous wave. Indeed, she thinks it wise that such a large number of young men be not tempted during the idle period by the beauties of our neighbourhood, and as a minister of the region, I quite agree. Even the highest of us can be brought low by our own nature, and it is not all of us who are as quickly blessed with the comforts of marriage as I have been.”

Here he paused, and Elizabeth was delighted to observe his flush matching Mary’s. Her letter would be long indeed.

“I shall not say more, lest it sully your maiden ears, but I am certain your father has done his duty by you, in warning of the perils that can beset a young woman, when a young man is not properly mannered. In these times, sadly, more and more young people are acting with a high degree of imprudence, as if since life is uncertain, it no longer matters what we do. Mary tells me, sister Elizabeth, that you have been fond of chastising those who only speak of good behaviour, but engage in none. Those who reprove others, but do not cast an eye on themselves. Therefore,” and here he patted his leg, as if to reassure himself, “I have determined that rather than indulging myself in thinking only of the words I deliver each Sunday, I should turn my thoughts to right action.”

Elizabeth set her teacup carefully down in her saucer in surprise. She could not recall the conversation with Mary in question, nor had she been conscious during any conversation with Mary that Mary had paid attention to what she was saying, or gave it any credence, coming as it did from a sister and not from pages between a book. 

“I should be very interested to hear your views on what action can be best taken during these times,” she remarked. “It is most admirable, sir.”

“I had not, I confess,” said Mr Collins, “got that far. Of course, there is Mary’s weekly pastoral care sessions. Those, I understand, are for people who do not identify as men, and I am therefore not attendant. I do try to do as pleases my wife.”

Here Mary looked down into her tea with a small smile. “It is nothing more than a weekly swap meet, Elizabeth. Conversation, and exchange of things that are needful. Of course, we discuss lessons from the Bible, although I do avoid the parts of Paul I find least helpful. The congregation has been much more interested than I had thought they would, but ‘tis early days yet, and perhaps their ardour will melt in the summer. We shall see. Of course, we may all be ill again by then, but in the meantime, it is proving to be most healing to the area.”

Elizabeth took up her tea again. She did not know what to think.

Kitty did. “So, no redcoats then?”

Both Mary and Elizabeth frowned at her. 

Mr Collins tried again. “I shall take you to see Rosings Park, I dare say that shall give you something to think on besides the militia. You have not, I think, been to any of the great houses of our fair country yet, so it will be quite the treat. Lady Catherine keeps her estate in fine fashion, despite the ‘virus. I do believe that there are many features there that are in the military style, at least. She keeps a good stable too, if you are fond of black horses. I am to call on her the day after tomorrow, while Mary holds her sessions, and it would not be displeasing to her, I am sure, to have some young female company. She has been sorely missing her own daughter, and perhaps may be cheered yet by some conversation, provided you can be civil, and speak of something besides a redcoat. Unless, of course, her cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam is there, and then you may speak of the militia if it pleases him. I would expect him to been most forthcoming on that topic.”

Kitty looked most cheered at the prospect. 

“Mary, you do not attend?” asked Elizabeth. “I had understood Lady Catherine to be the sort of person to whom one did not say no. Does she not expect you to attend?”

The Collins looked at each other warily, and then at Elizabeth.

“We decided,” said Mary, “that it was better for Mr Collins to attend without me. We found,” and here she looked meaningfully at her husband, “ that Lady Catherine did not appreciate my plain ways of speaking, and we determined that it was more prudent for me to be occupied elsewhere when Mr Collins pays his weekly visits, which he must do as a condition of the living.”

“I see,” said Elizabeth, who did, and nudged Kitty quiet, who did not. “I am all curiosity, I confess. I will behave as much as I can, sister, for your sake.”

Mary sipped her tea coolly. “You shall do as you please, I am certain,” she said, putting the cup and saucer down. “That is what you usually do.”

Later, as the sisters walked the grounds of the manse, as Mr Collins fed the pigs, and Kitty amused herself with inspecting the bee hive, Elizabeth took the liberty of inquiring after her sister’s health, to be politely but firmly rebuffed. It would not do, she was given to understand, to discuss matters matrimonial with a sister yet unwed, and yet, Mary seemed well satisfied enough with her lot, from the smile she wore looking at the ungainly Mr Collins chasing the ‘scaped pig around the kitchen garden, so that when Mrs Bennett asked, as she no doubt would, she could be assured that all was well in that department. The most that Mary would vouchsafe her was a quiet confidence that Mr Collins liked to be told what to do, and she liked to tell him, and that was more than enough for Elizabeth’s maiden ears to not ask any further. 

After sundown and supper, the family retired to their own rooms. The purple was indeed comforting, like dwelling inside a flower, or beneath the briny deep, or so Elizabeth imagined, and the sound of the wood doves outside were most beguiling, so that she forgave the sounds of the night for not including the sounds of Longbourn, and found herself asleep very promptly. It had been a most surprising day.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are flowers

There were bluebells in the woods about Hunsford parsonage, and crocuses along the drive, and Elizabeth cherished every last one of them. She did not, however, cherish the duty to which she was set prior to such indulgence of mucking out the pigsty, Mr Collins having lost his servants to the first wave of the ‘virus, but she and Kitty mucked in with a will, and Mary was very grateful for it. Then there was the milk to fetch, and the butter to churn, not so much as the Bennett siblings had been wont to do at home with their larger herd, while Mr Collins braved his bees. It was his duty and his pleasure, so he informed the wide eyed Kitty, as he would bring them the news of the district, often before he had even informed Lady Catherine. 

The drive between Hunsford and Rosing’s Park was not of great length, and Elizabeth had discovered that if she walked a sufficient length, she would be able to take in at least the beginnings of its grounds, which she did with a will. Kitty, following, had not appreciated the salient fact that if she could see those who passed, and comment on their carriage, and dress, and comportment, but Mr Collins was very much alive to this possibility, and summonsed the Bennett sisters back, and let his views on the matter be very well and clearly known. Elizabeth bore his rebuke in good spirits, secure in the knowledge that she had changed her dress after the mud of the sty, but Kitty quickly pulled out her cardinal card of tears, and retreated to her room mid lecture, completely flummoxing Mr Collins, who had been an only child and thus had very little experience in dealing with sisters.

The remainder of that day were therefore spent with Mr Collins cajoling Kitty through a locked door, somewhat to Mary’s amusement, but Elizabeth grew tired of the scene quickly, knowing full well that left to herself, Kitty would recover with alacrity, but given attention, she would milk it for all she was worth. Therefore, with Mr Collins’ blessing on the form of her apparel, she made her escape for a socially distant walk through the woods.

Winter had not quite relinquished its iron grip on the fields, but in the hedgerows, small pretty things were growing, requiring Elizabeth’s attention, each and every one, and she resolved to bring her sketchbook, and acquire a more permanent record, with what little skills she had. For the moment, she occupied herself with mentally cataloguing the ways in which the tiny flowers of Hunsford differed from those of Meryton, four petals here instead of five on the little white daisies, purple pink in the crocuses rather than white, and the ways in which some were splendidly the same, although in greater abundance than at home, bluebells carpeting between the trunks of trees, such that although she had been squeaky clean when she left Hunsford’s drive, with traipsing from path to hedgerow to grove ‘neath the trees, leaf little accreted itself to boots and dress, and sundry pollen to face, and arms, and she was a paragon of cleanliness next to godliness no more.

It was, of course, at that point, climbing over another fallen log, scuffling through somewhat muddy leaves and sniffing a purloined crocus that she had liberated into her own hand, having resisted the   
urge to do the same with the bluebells, that she encountered Mr Darcy.

By contrast, as if deliberate, he was standing in the midst of the small avenue between the trees, mounted astride his beautiful black horse, which he drew to a standstill, on the instant he spied her movement. There was no mud on its hooves, or on his boots, and he was garbed from head to toe in clothes that had never touched anything that had not been properly sanitised, and the fact that he wore his trousers and coat, and waistcoat and shirt and all was something that Elizabeth paid no heed to, none at all. Other than to note that the darkness of his black coat matched the woods about him and someone in his employ had an excellent eye for what would most become him. But apart from that, nothing.

Since he had halted, and was dismounting, she felt that she needed to be seen to be polite, for Jane’s sake if nothing else, and conscious all the while of his eyes on her ungainly passage, bent her course back over the fallen log, and through the bluebells, and between some grasping branches, and into the avenue, where he stood waiting, in his immaculately clean black clothing.

“Mr Darcy,” she said, somewhat questioningly.

“Miss Bennett,” he said, a sentence complete in itself, with no further elaboration as to how he happened to be intruding amongst her bluebell reveries, hundreds of miles from where she had supposed him to be. 

She was tempted to give a curtesy and retreat, only that it appeared he was going in the direction of the parsonage, precisely the direction of retreat. Should she walk the opposite way along the small avenue, then she would be late for lunch, and receive a further lecture on the subject from her sister Mary, or worse, her husband, and likely, propriety would encourage Mr Darcy to keep her company, as she was sure that he would feel that young ladies should not walk alone in woods, even in the middle of the day. There was nothing for it, but to converse.

She opened with “I trust you are well,” a tried and true start in the current epidemic, for who amongst us does not like an opportunity to traverse the ills with which one has been beset? 

“Very well, thank you,” said Mr Darcy. It would appear that Mr Darcy was one of the few who did not. Elizabeth contemplated recounting her own encounter with the ‘virus, and on reflection, thought it better not, for he had not been as polite in inquiry as she.

“These are lovely woods in the spring, I am finding. Very similar to Meryton, until you make closer inspection, and then you find they are their own woods entirely.”  
It seemed that that conversational ball also went wide of the mark, for Mr Darcy inclined his head in agreement, and did not comment further. Woods in spring not being sufficient to tempt him into a sally, she tried from a different direction, for it was not possible to finish a conversation politely when one had not had a conversation at all in the first place.

“I am here to visit with my sister, the newly wed Mrs Collins. I am indebted to her on numerous counts, not the least of them being that I am here. Is your sister still in London, sir? My other sister Jane was in town, but I do not believe she saw you, or Mr Bingley there.”

“Georgiana is safely at home in Pemberley, thank you. I was in town but briefly for business, before returning thence. I am here, unfortunately, on another kind of business.” 

She looked at him, but his countenance was as ungiving as ever, and she felt slightly affronted that no confidence was forthcoming, having been used to hearing all the minutia from all of the redcoats over the winter. But then, she chastised herself, he would probably think it beneath him to share such details with her, an indifferent acquaintance, and was about to wish him well with whatever kind of business that was, and take her leave, when he spoke further.

“My aunt, Lady Catherine, summonsed me to condole with her, in my role as nominal intended fiancé. Of all things.” He held the reins more lightly, the better to dismount, and Elizabeth should have turned away so as to not remark the state of his breeches as he did so, but found it strangely hard to convince herself to do so, and only the recollection that they were speaking of death enabled her to manage it. Having succeeded in his graceful dismount to close the ground between them, it appeared a conversation would ensue, which was as well, as Elizabeth found herself in a state of confusion. 

“I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, sir,” she said. “Am I to wish you further condolences or congratulations on having gained or lost a fiancée? I do not mean to be flippant, I assure you, but I do not know your family tree as well as Mr Collins, and I had thought that if there were to be a fiancée, it would be someone from the same ilk as Miss Bingley.”

She tried to hold her gaze steady as she quizzed him, but he waved off any suggestion of Miss Bingley with the hand holding the reins, or perhaps he was merely waving off a fly, it was not possible to tell. She felt a powerful urge to giggle, and only the consciousness that to do so would be to bring herself into the same spectrum of behaviour as Lydia, to laugh in the face of death, enabled her to hold fast.

“My aunt, as many people of power do, thinks it sufficient for her to want a thing for the universe to be ordered in that way. Now, in the midst of the dreadful illness, which has taken her daughter from her, she believes it would have been a fine thing if her daughter, and her daughter’s cousin, namely me, should have been affianced. Which we were not, I assure you. To insist on the truth at this point, some might say is too cruel. And so, I am attending on my aunt, and wearing my blacks, and paying my respects, not only as a dutiful nephew should, but as a grieving fiancé might. I do believe this is the first time I have been out of doors since I arrived. Forgive me, I trust you and your family are well?”

Elizabeth tried very hard not to smile, for Mr Darcy did look very put upon, under closer inspection, and she did not wish to mock, only to tease. 

“Yes indeed, although that is providence’s doing. Meryton suffered an influx of the ‘virus since you left, sir, and we were not spared at Longbourn. My sister, Mrs Collins, was most unwell, but as you see, for the moment we have weathered the storm.”

Mr Darcy moved instantly to her side, as if he expected on the instant Elizabeth to collapse. 

“I am well, I assure you sir. Truly. We are all recovered, although my mother does shout at a lower volume than previously, which I ascribe to a weakened constitution, but my father says is a lesser lung capacity. It matters not. I am well, sir. Would I be out walking the woods if I were not so?”

Mr Darcy looked at her keenly, as if appraising a horse. “Yes. If I make your character out correctly, you no more like being imprisoned inside than I. Such frustration rubs at one, does it not? I would believe that such a one as you might be tempted by initial morning feelings of goodwill to outwalk one’s actual strength, and, having walked into the Rosing Park woods, continue on out of an unwillingness to admit defeat. Is this not so, Miss Bennett?”

Miss Bennett took an internal catalogue of her feelings, both physical and mental. She had walked further than she intended, drawn in by the spring and the sunshine dappling down between the leaves, further than the walk into Meryton, if she was right. Rosings’ Park was further than she had intended. And yet, she was reluctant to concede that she might have been wrong in her initial assay, for she prided herself on knowing her own strength. 

While she stood debating, Mr Darcy stepped back and busied himself with the straps to his saddle, so that when she turned back, he was ready to boost her into the seat, and would not brook any argument. 

“You see,” he said as he bore her foot on his linked hands, “I am just as bad as my aunt.”

It took her a moment to consider how to respond, from her elevated height, as his black was much bigger than those they kept at Longbourn, her skirts had not been intended for riding to horse, and she found the saddle a little more robust than those of the Bennetts, all of which required her to adjust her seat, rather than consider the relative merits of a man with several black marks against him who had against all odds been kind, and an older lady that she did not know other than by report, which required further consideration and information from which to properly conclude.

“I have not had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. I shall have to give you my assessment tomorrow, for Mr Collins has arranged for us to take tea at Rosings’ Park.” She smiled down at him, as he walked beside the horse. 

Mr Darcy, it transpired, was capable of making civilised conversation when out of doors, and a font of knowledge on the grounds about Rosings’ Park, such that when she was delivered at Hunsford parsonage, she knew of several more paths to discover, a trout stream to inspect, and an apple orchard which might be coming into bloom shortly, should the weather continue warm. It should not have surprised her that the journey back seemed shorter than the journey into the woods, but the charming smile with which Mr Darcy graced her as he handed her down certainly did, all crinkly eyes and, if one looked closely, dimples, and she was grateful that her sisters were not in the drive to quiz her as to the source of her flush, and how she came to be riding Mr Darcy’s horse, when she had professed previously to find him disagreeable. As she washed her hands on entry to the parsonage, listening to Mary’s scales, and Kitty’s discussion with Mr Collins turning over just how many windows Rosings’ Park actually had, the violet she found tucked behind her ear, surprised her still more.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is cake and mild flirtation.

There were women everywhere. Tall women, short women, indifferently garbed and those who were dressed in their Sunday best, though it was only Thursday, and the only unifying characteristic that Elizabeth could discern was a look of hunger in the face, a thinning of the features and eyes that scrutinised the church hall for anything needful, well washed masks and gloves, coupled with a restraint that was either admirable in the holder, or shameful in the beholder who did not do what was in their power to address that need. Those who had, set out on tables their offerings, and those who had not, circulated with baskets, and a will, such that the tables were picked clean in a manner of minutes, and that part of the morning over, the ladies retired to chairs in the hall, placed at a distance, and the next part began.

Elizabeth had supposed that Mary would, as she had done on time innumerable at Longbourn, take the stage, as it were, and deliver an address on one or other supposed evils, or sing, or play the no doubt ill-tuned piano, given the winter, and braced herself, with an eye to the door to make a quick exit and meet Kitty and Mr Collins for the looked for visit to Rosings Park. However, with a nod from her sister, a lady who she had never met before in all her life, read a short passage from Romans, and commenced a discussion on practical duties that one could perform to assist ones’ neighbours in these difficult times, and another, at a further nod from her sister, identified for the group, needful activities for which volunteers were required, to repair roads, and fences, and times were arranged and men’s names were listed. Elizabeth was intrigued, but felt it best to retreat before Mr Collins intruded to extract her, and shut the door quietly behind her.

Which was as well, for Kitty and Mr Collins were on the path between the manse and the church hall, with Mr Collins loudly berating Kitty for dawdling over her morning, and lamenting that they would be late, and Lady Catherine displeased, and Kitty was in her predictable tears, and the combination was not pleasant. 

As they walked, Elizabeth teased salient details from Mr Collins, although not as many as she should have liked. Hunsford had been hit badly by a wave of the ‘virus, the one that had carried away Lady Catherine’s daughter, and for whom no expense had been spared, and many others, but mostly men, had been taken, and taken suddenly, mid harvest, and before the harvest was finished. The timing of the wave at Longbourn had not been so bad, with the worst hitting mid summer, and the later mid winter, such that although many had been ill, and enough and more than enough had succumbed, enough had been able bodied at critical points when many bodies were needed, such that a harvest had been made properly, and stores for winter and trade secured. Mr Collins spoke of Lady Catherine’s surpassing grief for her daughter, between gasps for breath as they strode purposively along the drive to Rosings Park, and how she had been much occupied with her own estate, and although Mr Collins would not come out and say it, it seemed as if Lady Catherine had had the means, and the opportunity, to make available stores from her estate, but no will to do so, lost as she was in grief for her daughter. 

Elizabeth forebore to comment further, as they were nearing the house and its fabled windows and chimneys, and Kitty was overcome with raptures.

It was indeed a very large house, with a great many windows, and chimneys, and balustrades, and additional columns in the Grecian manner that did not appear to have structural purpose, and sculptural facades of cherubs and carytids mixed together for effect, if not historical verisimilitude. It was breathtaking, in the same way that walking rapidly after a bout with the ‘virus was breathtaking, Elizabeth found, and she and Kitty drew to a halt, the better to take in the effect.

“Sisters,” remonstrated Mr Collins. “You may view the exterior after you take tea. We must not keep Lady Catherine waiting! She has been most severe on the subject. Please, ladies, hurry!”  
The interior of Rosings was no less elaborately decorated, and no less eclectic in its décor. The entry hall, with splendidly high ceilings boasted a black and white parquet flooring, and white marble busts in alcoves. The room through which they were then shown, somewhat briskly, was gilded to the edge of its teeth, in a manner that would have put Versailles to shame, and featured many paintings of bewigged gentlemen, staring meaningfully at all passersby, which made Elizabeth uncomfortable, with red velvet curtains covering all the windows. The next gallery was liberally painted in a trompe l’oeil manner, with many doors and windows that on closer inspection led nowhere, and cupboards cunningly painted into the wall, such that Elizabeth was relieved when the footman took the burden on himself to identify the true door amongst them, and opened the final door into Lady Catherine’s sitting room. 

A sitting room it may have been in fact, but the first impression Elizabeth had was of darkness, for all the windows were shrouded in heavy dark green drapes, and it took some moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Oil lamps gave some relief to the atmosphere, but not sufficient for her to make any meaningful impression, and she walked into the edge of a couch before cognisant that it was there to be walked into. 

“You are late, Mr Collins. I detest lateness,” scraped out a voice from the darkness, and Elizabeth saw, on closer inspection, a lady of years more advanced than her own mother, dressed all in black from feet to bonnet, and black gloves, with no mask inspecting her right back, with monocle raised. 

Mr Collins brought the party to a halt and began to speak in an obsequious manner. “Lady Catherine, I apologise profusely. I do know your preference and the time at which you take tea, and I have no excuse, none, for our terrible rudeness. Unpardonable, quite.”

Lady Catherine waved him to a seat, “Yes, yes, so it is. These, I suppose, are your wife’s sisters. She has so many of them, excessively so. I do think it best for people of that class to have a small family, if one can manage it. Imprudent, almost, to have so many daughters, and not a single son. Still, it has benefitted you, I expect, Mr Collins, and so you will say it is to the good. You must be Kitty,” she said, poking a fan at that person, “and you appear to have the face of someone who should be called Elizabeth,” she remarked, pointing her fan at Elizabeth’s nose. “Mary tells me you play the piano, although not as well as she.” 

Elizabeth repressed her natural instinct to take action when something was put close to her face, and thus Lady Catherine’s fan survived unbroken. It did not appear that Lady Catherine required a response to her remark, and so she did not offer one.

“Anne played the piano, though not well. Her health, even before the last, was not good, and she was in terrible pain when she sat, her joints, you see. Still, she would do it. To hear some piano music would be a comfort, if you would. Sing for your supper and then you may have tea. I dare say the piano will be better than the one that is at Longbourn. Leave your masks on, please.”

Elizabeth was too amused to refuse, although she hid it as well she could behind her mask, resolving to have a word with her sister about what information of a personal nature she would choose in future to disclose to relative strangers, and made her way where Mr Collins pointed her, abandoning Kitty to interrogation by Lady Catherine, retreating towards the rear of the room and a glowing lamp by which she made out a piano. She also, however, made out two gentlemen, sitting awkwardly on a yellow backed sofa of dark wood, one whose profile and dark hair she recognised on the instant to be Mr Darcy, as he leapt to his feet, and the other, as a person with whom she was not acquainted, but, as the two of them stood and bowed politely, bore a strong resemblance to that gentleman, albeit dressed in a redcoat that the militia of Hertfordshire would envy. Neither wore masks. 

“Miss Bennett,” said Mr Darcy. “Allow me to present my cousin, Colonel FitzWilliam. Fitz, Miss Elizabeth Bennett, of Longbourn.”

“Charmed,” said he, and sat down again. “Longbourn, that’s near Meryton, I take it? Where the nth are stationed?”

“Indeed, sir. Are you well acquainted with that regiment?” asked Elizabeth, as she sat at the small piano, and flexed her fingers within her gloves, and the gentlemen resumed their seats.

The Colonel looked at Mr Darcy, and Mr Darcy at him, but in the darkness of the room, Elizabeth could not make out their expressions. 

“Only by reputation,” said the Colonel, at length. “Of which they have one.”

“Ah,” said Elizabeth. “We have not had anything too terrible happen. Barring, of course, the ‘virus.”

The Colonel made sympathetic noises. 

“Music, please, Miss Bennett.” said Lady Catherine. “I detest tardiness. If you’re going to do a thing, do a thing, I always say. If you don’t intend to play, leave.” 

Elizabeth began to play, on the piano which proved to be almost in tune, and Lady Catherine, mollified, turned back to her conversation with Mr Collins, and the terrified looking Kitty. Her fingers were still cold from the journey, and consequently her rendition of a harmless little Scarlatti number was nowhere near as crisp, nor as precise, nor as pleasing as it should have been. Still, Lady Catherine called for another, and Elizabeth gritted her teeth, remembering her sister now relied on Mr Collins, who in turn was reliant on the living from Lady Catherine, and thus in a way on her playing the indifferent piano. The situation called for some Bach, and ideally, some tea, with lightly buttered toast. 

Bach left no room for thinking, only the fingers on the keys and the counterpoint of melody and intersecting melody, and she had not realised the gentlemen were approaching until she finished, and looked up to find Mr Darcy placing another lit candle in the holder. 

“There, you see?” Elizabeth said. “Mary was right in her assessment. I am no talent at the pianoforte, and I dare say have destroyed forever any hope of being counted as a woman of accomplishment. Is it not so?”

“You do yourself an injustice, Miss Elizabeth, as I warrant is usual. You play well, as you well know. If I make out your character correctly, it is more that you dislike to be obvious, and showy, and how did Bingley put it? Tinkling away at a piano to demonstrate your superiority over other young ladies, is not of interest to you. Rather, you prefer to dazzle with your bon mots, with which you can cheerfully and easily overcome ballrooms full of those who have taken the other path. Have I hit it?”

Elizabeth looked questioningly at her hands. As a rule, she did not care to psychoanalyse her acquaintances in drawing rooms of titled ladies with whom she did not have a long standing understanding concerning contretemps, but these were difficult times, and in her defence, he had started it. She placed her hands back on the keyboard and began to pick out a very slow Mozart variation.

“It is interesting that you mention ballrooms, Mr Darcy. For you do not like them as a rule, or perhaps it is the ballrooms in which I have encountered you.”

The Colonel appeared at her other side, carrying a tea cup and saucer, gilt edged, and bearing the latest modish pattern. 

“What’s that? Ballrooms? I do like a good canter about them. Almost as diverting as a hard ride across country, if you have the right partner. Why is it, Miss Bennett, that all the girls that have money are the ones that tread on your feet?”

Elizabeth executed a trill, and continued. “You may like ballrooms, Colonel, but your cousin does not share your views. Was he this way before the ‘virus? Or is this a new behaviour. I am trying to make out his character and any light you can shed would be very well received.”

“Oh, Darcy’s always been unsociable. Even before all of this, he’d have to be winkled out of his shell at parties, just like a little snail. Then, of course, he went off to train in law, and that clammed his mouth up even more. Locked up tighter than a bank vault, is Darcy, Miss Bennett. I’m surprised you found him in one at all.”

“Oh? But would you not agree, Colonel, that having entered a battlefield, or a ballroom, where there are established rules of engagement, as opposed to, say, a drawing room where there are not, a gentleman of good name and character, such as Mr Darcy, should be expected to conduct himself in accordance with those rules?”

Mr Darcy folded his hands before him, as she continued to play, and the Colonel guffawed. “What on earth did you do, Darcy? What on earth can you possibly have done?”

“Brace yourself, Colonel. Mr Darcy, although we have admitted him to be of good name and character, on the very first night I met him, at a public gathering, at which there were very many more young ladies than gentlemen, although being of sound limb, and unscathed by the ‘virus, refused to stand up with a single one of us. Now, what do you say to that? How does that fit with a man of good fame and character?”

The Colonel dissolved into hearty guffaws, while Mr Darcy continued to frown down at Elizabeth, the candlelight flickering about his hair as she drew the Mozart to a close.

“What are you laughing at, Fitzwilliam, in my drawing room? Tis most improper, with Anne gone less than a year. I will not have it. Come and sit by me and behave yourself.” Came the firm tones of Lady Catherine.

The Colonel, collecting himself from his laughing fit, retreated to the other sofa, where Kitty looked thoroughly wrung out, as best Elizabeth could tell in the gloom.

Mr Darcy did not move, and so Elizabeth remained seated. She would have liked to withdraw also, but it is difficult to do so without loss of face when one is being stared down at by a tall handsome gentleman whom one has just insulted, or at very least, teased rather harder than expected. 

“You are correct,” he said at length. Elizabeth bit her lip under her mask, as she had not anticipated capitulation this early, or even at all. “It was not gentlemanly behaviour and in recollection, I am ashamed of what I said. It did not reflect the room, or any lady in it, let alone yourself, rather the ill temper I found myself in that evening. I can only apologise and assure you that I shall endeavour to do better in future. For one thing I shall not apologise.”

Mr Darcy stepped back, to allow Elizabeth to arise from the piano stool, and waited, as she settled her dress and shawl. “Oh, sir? And what, pray tell, is that?” 

She stood, half expecting him to retract the ‘tolerable’. 

“You do have fine eyes.” His own crinkled briefly at her, before he turned away to meet the summons of his aunt. Elizabeth was not flustered, or so she supposed herself not to be, but promptly walked into yet another cushioned chair.

“Well,” said Lady Catherine, as Elizabeth fumbled her way through the dark to the sofa on which her sister and Mr Collins sat. “You play passably well. I dare say regular practice will improve your accuracy. You may use the piano in the East wing to practise while you are at Hunsford.”

Elizabeth was about to thank Lady Catherine, when she continued. 

“We do not use that wing regularly, and you will not bother the gentlemen, as they are in the West. You may bring your sisters with you, if they wish to avail themselves of the opportunity. It shall be a rare treat for you all, I dare say. Your sister Mary has not done so once since she came to the parsonage, contrary girl.”

Elizabeth shut her mouth abruptly. Mr Collins wore a pained expression on his face, and she judged it better to throw herself on the issue, than allow Mr Collins the uncertain task of juggling his dual loyalties to his wife, and to his patroness. 

“Mary is very busy just now with her duties to the congregation,” said Elizabeth, to the visible relief of Mr Collins. “I understand it to be an especially busy time of year, and with the impact of the ‘virus being fully felt, she is turning her energies to best use for the people of your district. I think it to be admirable.”

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes. “You give your opinion as decidedly as your sister.”

Elizabeth smiled beneath her mask. “I should imagine that I do. We are somewhat alike, your ladyship. It is to be expected.”

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes still further, and motioned to her butler. Tea was poured. Seedy cake was served, with sweetened cream, and honey that tasted as if it came from Mr Collins’ hives. There was no lightly buttered toast.

“I understand from your sister that you were all afflicted with the ‘virus, just as my dear daughter Anne. Yet here you all are, with not a Bennett girl lost, other than to marriage. Explain to me God’s wisdom in that, Mr Collins, for I do not see it.” She crumbled her cake into the side of her saucer.

Mr Collins placed his tea cup and saucer carefully down on a little table cluttered with porcelain figurines. 

“Lady Catherine, God has his own wisdom, and it is not given to us to understand it. All we can do is follow his guidance while we are here on earth. And may I say, the love that you showed to your daughter does you great –“

“None of that now, Collins,” interjected Lady Catherine. “You can make no answer for there is none. I shall retire shortly. You shall come again for tea tomorrow.” She sipped her tea delicately.

“I understand,” said Elizabeth delicately also, “that your tenants were very badly hit by the ‘virus. That, in fact, some families are starving now, or as good as, without men to plant the fields, and work the lands. I know what my father has done with our small holdings and tenants, but should be grateful to learn what measures an estate as big and well established as Rosings Park has taken to protect its people, if you would be so generous as to share your wisdom.”

She noted from the corner of her eye that her cousin looked appalled, that Kitty looked relieved that for once the spotlight was not on her, the Colonel looked as if he would guffaw again, and Mr Darcy, from what she could make out, was amused.

Lady Catherine was not. “Spring and sunshine shall sort things out. I have increased the charitable stipend once, twice, at least in the last three months for those who have lost their breadwinners, and waived the rent for all since last August. As you see, my staff are still here, so that I can keep an eye on them, what, no, I jest. It is so that I can be sure that they are paid, and they can send money home to feed their families. Do not suppose me to be some hard hearted tyrant sitting up here in my castle eating cake, while the peasants starve, Miss Bennett. I buy the ingredients for the cake, so that I can pay those that grow them, and I ask the cook to bake the cake, so that she feels that she has earnt her wages. I do what I can. It would be churlish to refuse to eat the cake, now that I have it. It is excellent cake, do you not agree?”

Elizabeth took a small bite. It was.


	21. Fishing for river trout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IN which white shirts are wet

Comparing the shape of two new green oak leaves on the next morning with the satisfaction of knowing she would not need to assist in mucking out the pig until the next morning, in a walk in quite a different part of the woods, Elizabeth was surprised to be once again surprised the next morning, by the sound of a large horse, and the sight of a tall dark haired gentleman in a dark riding coat, to wit: Mr Darcy. Mr Darcy expressed surprise also, although his face did not wear it, and insisted on accompanying her along the drive, and to show her one of the outlooks of which he had spoken the previous day, which was indeed charming, with one day more of spring bringing new growth to the fields, lightly tinging with green the hill towards the avenue and trees that surrounded Rosings Park proper.

They spoke of inconsequential things, with Elizabeth restraining herself from quizzing him on Lady Catherine’s actual tenancy practices, and Mr Darcy restraining himself from quizzing her as to why Mr Collins had chosen to recite a psalm, as Kitty played an indifferent hymn and Lady Catherine sipped her tea the previous afternoon. The niceties were observed. Elizabeth learnt of Mr Darcy that his sister adored to play the piano, and had to be reminded that the outside world existed once she had seated herself to do so, but that she was not in any manner interested in playing for persons with whom she was not acquainted, and here the confidence in relation to his sister ended, although it appeared as if the gentleman had more to say. In turn, feeling the need to provide a confidence concerning one of her own sisters, and after having rejected any confidence to Mr Darcy concerning Jane, as Mr Bingley was too near to him in affection, and Mary, as too proximate in distance and establishment with the de Bourgh family, and Lydia as being too flighty and someone of whom Mr Darcy would no doubt disapprove, Elizabeth confided that Kitty would find herself similarly inclined towards expression in some creative means, if only she could be separated long enough from her younger sister and the militia long enough, and pointed in a suitable direction, perhaps the piano, or screen painting, or needlepoint, but that this was difficult in the confines and circumstances of Meryton. The gentleman seemed to take umbrage at the mention of the militia, or perhaps at the needlepoint, it was difficult for Elizabeth to make it out, and she determined that enough had been confided and to do more might not only be improper but offend Mr Darcy, which she did not feel the need to do, at that juncture in the day, she did not know him so very well yet, after all.

That afternoon, in the confines of the darkened sitting room as Lady Catherine quizzed the Colonel on his movement over the last six months and dissected each of them, and found them wanting, despite disavowing any knowledge or experience in the military field, Mr Darcy seemed an entirely different gentleman, all straight back and starched collar, and entirely attentive on his aunt’s whims, although Elizabeth did detect more than one raised eyebrow that was lifted by that gentleman as his aunt proposed more and more outlandish manoeuvres that would have been ridiculous even pre pandemic. He unbent slightly when passing the seedy cake, which maintained irritatingly its quality of excellence, to ask Kitty whether she would like extra honey, at which that Miss Bennett giggled and said she was sweet enough already, which Elizabeth had told her on numerous occasions was neither charming nor appropriate, and the gentleman looked at Elizabeth almost reproachfully before removing the tray and passing it to the butler, who retreated, and with him the delicious seedy cake went.

The next morning, after finishing with the pigs, and the stillroom, and sponging the mud from previous stockings and hems, Elizabeth applied for the company of her younger sister Kitty on a stroll in yet another direction, but that young lady declined, on the basis that Mary was taking her to visit the tenant farmers and consult about their conditions, with the company of Mr Collins who was paying his parish visits condole with those who needed condolences and rejoice with those who had been delivered. Elizabeth once more determined that the only company that she therefore required was that of the birds in the trees and the woodland creatures, and with a certain lightness of step, made her way over rock and fallen tree to find a promised ruined remnant of a hermitage built by Lady Catherine’s predecessors in that ruined style, that both Mr Darcy and the Colonel had mentioned at separate points during the previous tea service, as examples of the interesting approach that the de Bourgh’s took towards preservation of heritage, that is, that it did not much matter whether the heritage was organic or acquired, so long as it was preserved. It was, as promised by both gentlemen, quite amusing, when viewed with that perspective, and Elizabeth entertained herself for quite some time in examining all the artificial features, from Roman mosaic tiles, to graeco columns, and finally Tudor timbering, which had added to the collapse, and was wishing either for her sketchbook, and the skill to capture it, or a companion with which to share the joke when she discovered she was no longer alone, both Mr Darcy and the Colonel holding their gloved hands up in innocence when she mock protested that once more her solitude had been disturbed, although she smiled beneath her mask as she said it. As she related to the tea party that afternoon, Mr Darcy and the Colonel took equal honours in fulfilling their duties as hosts of the ruined hermitage, and relaying to her extracts from the supposed history of it, from the ancient Britons, the Romans, Royalists, Calvinists and, courtesy of the Colonel, a pitched battle between the fae and the gentry. Lady Catherine did not seem to be impressed, for Elizabeth was not offered any further cake, or honey. 

The following morning, when Elizabeth set out once more, duties fulfilled and Mr Collins’ fishing net skilfully concealed in a carrybag, she was certain that she would receive company in the form of one or more of the gentlemen of the Rosings’ Park party, and was surprised to be unsurprised by the time she arrived at the trout stream that Mr Darcy had mentioned on the first instance of surprise, and also surprised that she was a trifle disappointed. Mr Darcy had been very well spoken on the subject of his fabricated history, while the Colonel had been very animated in leaping from rock to rock to bring the more violent aspects of said fabrication to life. With the exception of Lydia’s predilection for causing a scene, and Mary’s tendency towards sermons and loud piano music to which one could dance, none of the Longbourn family engaged in dramatics, amateur or otherwise, and although she was certain her father was as well versed as Mr Darcy, for she knew well his taste in books, no discourse on them had been entertained since she mastered what Mr Bennett had determined sufficient, his tastes not being towards pedagogy. In short, she had had fun, and now, with the solitude she had craved in the noisy pigpen of the earlier morning, she was feeling the lack. 

The trout stream sparkled in the morning light, and many a fine fish seemed to be flashing its belly to the sun, just as Izaak Walton had suggested. She had read him too, but her father had not thought he could push his wife quite far enough to allow his most tomboyish daughter to fish, and so the delights of the line and reel had been barred. No one had said anything concerning nets.

The first thing it seemed necessary to do, and as she had assured herself of solitude, was to remove her mask, and her gloves and stockings, and kirtle her skirts, which she had practiced in the quiet of her room with a belt. Technique held good. She fastened her bag across her person, having stowed her personal protective gear away, and tied her boots to the outside, safe and sound.

The second thing was to find a place where she could stand stable on the slippery muddy rocks, which were more loathsome than anticipated, and not mentioned by Mr Walton in his compleat Angler, perhaps as he had the advantage of wearing boots, with net submerged and wait. This step was trickier than it seemed, she discovered. The mere act of placing the net ‘neath the surface was enough to spread a paroxysm of terror from fish to fish, who would then desert that patch of the stream. 

So it was that she found herself moving up, and up, the trout stream to a place where the fish would have no choice, no chance, but to run into her net with the current, and thus she would find herself successful, and have a fine fish for lunchington. The fish were cannier, even then, than anticipated, with the net proving a sufficient obstacle that they would jump over it, and into Elizabeth’s kirtled skirt, such that several times she determined she could catch them with her bare hands, if only she were not holding the net, and in the grabbing of the fish, the dropping of the net and consequential scramble to catch it before the current drifted it away, Elizabeth found herself quite cheerfully wet and distracted from all thoughts of the ‘virus, and mortality and troublesome gentlemen who would make pleasant conversation in the outdoors and stilted stifling conversation in the drawing room.

Until she looked up. For around the next bend in the river stood the gentleman in question, with his back to her, riding breeches rolled up his legs, along with his dignity, and coat abandoned, white shirt, wet through and translucent in sundry places, and the light hitting his dark curls, also wet, attention wholly focussed on the line and reel in hand, and her attention was, understandably, refocussed. For what are the charms of babbling brooks and silver pink trout tickling to those of the opportunity to observe, without his usual refinement filter, a gentleman so usually fastidious of person and manner? There are none.

Mr Darcy, she was amused to observe, was in the habit of cajoling the fish as he cast, in tones much sweeter than those he adopted in the drawing room, and castigating himself in language slightly harsher than those he employed with his friends when he bungled it, which was infrequent. He was capable of boyish hoots of excitement when he was lucky and a fish took the bait, and stoic in the face of disappointment when the fish eluded the final net. It is entirely possible that Elizabeth may have remained there for quite the duration, enjoying her unlooked for opportunity to turn the tables on sardonic gentlemen who passed judgement from across an assembly hall, were it not for the actions of an unfortunate trout who finally managed to lodge itself in the net, and a more fortunate one which leapt over the lip and into her skirt, causing an involuntary exclamation of surprise. The consequences were bifold, Elizabeth caught two fish, and Mr Darcy, in spinning carelessly on the muddy rocks, caught his heel and fell, rod and all, losing his fish and his dignity. 

Elizabeth deposited the second fish into the net to crowd its colleague, and with a pang of regret for loss of concealment, and the consequent disapproval that would surely flow from Mr Darcy for both her kirtled skirt and bared legs, and behaviour that was on the unseemly side, had he known just how long she had stood watching, took large strides up to help that gentleman from his muddy fate, and meet his reproof.

Only one of those two things transpired, as Mr Darcy laughed his way through the rescue, and her rescue of his rod and reel, and securing her catch in the net. He did not seem to be minding so very much being wet through, despite the chill of the stream water, or that she had caught him as unawares as she had been the previous two mornings.

For form’s sake, she did try not to ogle him too much as he attempted to dry off with his beautiful black riding coat, but reader, to you and to only you she would confess that she found him to be an entirely superior model of gentleman, from his entirely messy curls, now that his valet’s styling had been removed, and completely translucent white shirt displaying what appeared to be admirably broad and muscular shoulders which had only been hinted at through the various dress coats he had previously garbed, and as for that gentleman’s legs and seat, she found herself quite flushed for no reason that she would be comfortable admitting to anyone else but you. Indeed. Ahem.

Mr Darcy did attempt to tame the curls, with his fingers, but they would not resume their usual tamed positions, having apparently decided, like him, that drawing rooms and polite manners were to be abandoned this morning. He did, however, button his coat back up, and rolled his wet breeches down ruefully, and Elizabeth took this as a hint, and turned away to de-kirtle. 

When she turned back, Mr Darcy was wearing his usual poker face, or at least, he was trying to.

“Miss Bennett, a pleasure, as always. Pray, is there weed in my hair? I feel as if there should be.”

Elizabeth, failing entirely to wear a poker face, removed a strand of green from his bent head.

“I feel as if I should apologise, Mr Darcy. You were performing admirably without my interruption, and I have lost you your fish. I am entirely to blame.”

Mr Darcy laughed, and did not look one iota reproachful. “If I were a serious fisherman, I should have been up before the sun. No, I will not have talk of blame. I am here for the sport, and the joy of it, and neither of those things have been lost with a dampening, which was not my first in this stream, and I doubt very much shall be my last. So! I will have none of your apologies, if you choose to offer them, for you have not a thing to apologise for.”

He shook his head, as if he were a wet dog. “Moreover, I cannot stand here in all my drab wetness and be called Mr Darcy. It will not do. Fitzwilliam, if you can bring yourself to call me that, while we are standing in a stream.”

Elizabeth had to concede that she had no desire to stand on formalities. “Fitzwilliam, then. You may call me Elizabeth, but only when we are not In Lady Catherine’s earshot. On that subject, perhaps we could enter into a mutual pact not to inform her of this morning’s adventures?”

Mr Darcy held out his hand, and she, with a degree of trepidation, took it, and they solemnly shook.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I shall be waiting to mend bruised hearts with buttered toast.

“And of all the places that you have served, sir, truly you have not found any countryside more interesting than that of Derbyshire? I feel that you are stretching the truth as my sister stretches the cheese,” said Elizabeth, as they made their way along the crest of the hill. 

“No, I assure you – I have been known to stretch a good cheese, but not about land, not having any myself. Were Darcy here, he would say the same. The grounds about Pemberley are unsurpassed for interest, the crags alone would have you bewitched. You look like a girl who enjoys a good climb, and those hills make this one look like a mere pimple.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I will ask the gentleman, although I feel he would be likely to tell me the same out of pride. I shall simply have to see for myself, when occasion presents itself.”

The Colonel flicked a stone from the path with his riding crop. “You mean to tell me he hasn’t bored you stupid yet with the beauties of Pemberley? I would have sworn that by now, I mean, he’s had two weeks and more to tell you of them. If he were our aunt, you’d have heard more than enough about how many chimneys, and how many windows, and all the rest of it to last you a life time. Funny the things some folk are proud of, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth forbore to answer. “And you, Colonel, what are you proud of, if not chimneys and windows in the manner of Lady Catherine? Your regiment, no doubt, no military man could fail to cite that at first instance.”

The Colonel laughed heartily. “Do you know many military men, Miss Bennett? Is that what they speak of, pride? In my experience, you wouldn’t catch many speaking about much else beyond the next engagement, or the next wager, or, or, some other topics which a gentleman shouldn’t mention, let on know that he exists, when he’s talking with a lady like your good self. Or perhaps the nth Regiment is of a higher calibre than those I serve with, or they’re on better behaviour than my lot when they’re visiting in Meryton. Eh?”

Elizabeth was confounded by this. She could not precisely recall what she had discussed with Mr Wickham, beyond his grievances against Mr Darcy, but that he had otherwise been exceedingly pleasant, and showed a great deal more care towards her younger sisters than the gentlemen of Meryton had heretofore. She vowed to raise with Mr Darcy, when she next met him outside a drawing room, Mr Wickham’s grievances and see what that gentleman had to say for himself on the topic. She felt vaguely ashamed that she had not done so before, but Mr Darcy, nay, Fitzwilliam, had been such a stimulating companion that betwixt the violets, and the ruins, and the trout fishing and the sundry hills they had explored together after that, over the last two weeks, such that Mr Wickham, and his righteous grievances, had been unjustly forgotten. She should, and would, remedy the situation.

“You are no doubt correct, Colonel. Are you then proud of something else?”

“Oh! You are a serious one today, Miss Elizabeth! Very well. I am, as of course your other militia acquaintances are, proud of my regiment, or I would not serve with them. I am proud of my perseverance in the face of calamity, for without it I would be lost. I am proud of my horse, for all I am testing his patience by leaving him in the stables today to walk the hills, as so praised by my cousin as being an excellent panacea for the ills of being cooped up with our aunt. And I am, for my sins, proud of our family, as vexatious as they can be, for we have weathered this ‘virus together. Or at least, I hope we have. It has hard to tell, betwixt waves of the dashed thing.”

The Colonel looked suitably sombered by his last utterance, thought Elizabeth, peeking sideways at him and determined that some levity was called for.

“Do you think, sir, that your cousin would agree? Beyond the windows of Pemberley, which I am sure are many and suitably splendid, what drives the pride of such a man? For it is not mastery of a ballroom, or easy command of society, I know that for a certainty.”

Now it was the Colonel’s turn to peek sideways at her, although he was less subtle. “I shall indulge you, if you wish to speak of my cousin, Miss Bennett, although I shall note only that this is the third time you have brought him up in the space of ten minutes, and it does not give me much to be proud on, that you keep the conversation hot with his name, but fear not, I shall not teaze you for it. Much.”  
Elizabeth attempted to protest, but the Colonel would continue.

“Mr Darcy is, or should I say, has always been, proudest of his sister, sweet little Georgiana, and his friends, although those are fewer now than they have been, thanks to this cursed ‘virus. Their triumph is his triumph, their ills his own. Once you have crossed that Rubicon into Mr Darcy’s goodwill, you need never fear for your self interest, for it is as good as taken care of. I cannot tell you the number of times he has interceded for me, although it does no great credit to me to own it, the second son of an Earl has all the responsibilities of the title, and none of the funds to see it through. He bought me my commission, you know, when my own father would not, and he will not hear of my returning him the funds, now that I am in a better position to do so, witters on about serving the country, forget the King, and tells me there is no debt at all. Puts a burden on a fellow, I tell you, Miss Bennett. Any good character I have is entirely thanks to him. Will that do?”

Elizabeth laughingly protested. “I must hear more, sir. Kindness to one’s kinsman is to be expected. I will not admit that to be sufficient to establish his bona fides.”

The Colonel thought for a further moment. “More recent, and not a kinsman. I have one, and much more recent. You know, I think, his good friend Mr Bingley, of the Bingley cotton trade? A prodigiously busy young man, and now of considerable good fortune, thanks to this terrible plague. A very wise head for business, but when it comes to the ladies, well, I understand that Darcy recently had to save him from an unwise prospect. It happens, you know, with men of means, as well as the heiresses that I wish I could stumble upon.”

Elizabeth felt her gut clench, and it was a moment before she could speak, so she walked ahead, willing composure rather than feeling it.

“Miss Bennett? Will that do?” The Colonel asked, in his continuing jovial manner.

She swallowed. “No, I pray you. Was he preyed upon by a fortune hunter? Or a woman of ill repute?”

The Colonel laughed easily. “No, I understand that it was more the former than the latter, and the lady’s family, rather than the lady herself, which is sometimes the way in which these things go. You should see the society mamas toing the line between civility and outright touting their daughters for purchase. Darcy would have his best friend marry only but the best, and I understand that the lady was not, nor even much interested in Mr Bingley as a person, only a prospect. I warrant that Darcy’s seen his share of the latter.”

Elizabeth again swallowed. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, like overbrewed tea. 

“I think, on reflection, that will do. Thank you, Colonel, for sharing that with me. Much to think on, indeed.”

The Colonel laughed, easily again. “What will you have me talk of now? His seat at horse? His favourite dish? I am at your disposal.”

Elizabeth turned, and surveyed the path back down the hills to Hunsford, choosing where to put her foot first. “I think that we have spoken long enough of Mr Darcy, Colonel. I should ask instead about your other cousin, Miss Anne, if you would like to speak of her, and it will give you comfort, I am at your disposal for the return.”

The Colonel spoke freely of his cousin, as they picked their way down the hills, and back along the shaded roads to Hunsford, and had Elizabeth been listening, she would no doubt have mourned properly with the Colonel, rather than making instead polite noises of sympathy, but in good conscience, reader, she would own to you that she heard properly not a word.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elizabeth tortures herself, just a bit more, for dramatic effect. Although there is lightly buttered toast, it offers little relief.

Mary kept an adequate table, and made perfectly serviceable bread and condiments, but at luncheon, everything Elizabeth sampled was cardboard and ashes. Jane had been, in her estimation, truly very attached to Mr Bingley. The doodling of initials, sighing and distant stares were, in the Bennett household, commonplace, but more the domain of a Kitty or a Lydia than a sensible, retiring character such as Jane’s. No, to the contrary. Jane had become even more consumed by habits that stopped her from thinking, so far as Elizabeth could fathom, both before her London visit, and afterwards. Charitable hampers were assembled and walked down to the tenant farmers most affected by the market shutdowns, shirts and masks were cut and sewn, out of cotton especially selected not only for colour, but as to whether it came from a Bingley mill, and much dough had been kneaded, punched, and shaped into a twisted and braided loaf, many of which had been included in the charitable donations. The only tell tale indicator that all of this heightened activity had anything to do with Mr Bingley was that any mention of his name would cause a temporary pause in the frenzy, a blush, and then an acceleration. Jane had never exhibited such behaviour previously. 

Elizabeth conceded that, to the casual observer, not someone with a lifetime’s knowledge of her sister and her disinclination to share her interior emotions, and with limited ability to see ‘neath the masks Jane habitually wore in public, both physical and emotional, it would be difficult to discern a partiality towards Mr Bingley. And yet, she had thought that Mr Bingley had in fact discerned it. Had sought Jane out, above all other ladies. Certainly, when she had been greviously ill, before the ‘virus hit, he had been excessively attentive to her, and concerned for her comfort. It had required no leap of imagination to fill in the blanks and suppose the two to be attached. Further, she had not imagined Mr Bingley to be so reliant on Mr Darcy on matters so pertaining to his innermost happiness that he would be able to be persuaded that his choice was not a wise one, although she did admit that that gentleman could be very persuasive. 

Now, in particular, with Mr Collins and hence Longbourn happily secured by Mary, Jane was not bound to tie herself to any man for a fortune. To have Mr Darcy consider that this would be the case! It did not bear thinking of. She did not want to think of it. She could not stop thinking on it. If this is what he thought of Jane, then what must he think of her? What did he think of her, she wondered, as she washed the dishes, having begged employment from her sister, who gave it without question, and requested her company at the hall for the afternoon sewing bee. 

If he did not think of her dear sweet Jane as being suitable marriage material for his dearest companion, then he must certainly consider herself subpar. Did he imagine, could he, that she had set her bonnet at him and was pursuing him for his estate? Elizabeth swore briefly, in the confines of her own head, as she stabbed the needle too angrily through the work pants being assembled and into her finger. Someone coughed, violently at the rear of the hall, and Elizabeth felt her own lungs catch, momentarily taking her breath, and thought with it. Then it came flooding back in. How could he think such a thing? Did he consider her no better than a Miss King? One of those young misses who read Debretts as if it were a form guide, complete with price tags? Two weeks of exceedingly pleasant conversation, and crinkling eyes and dimples glimpsed briefly behind his mask, and warm handclasps and first names, and all the while thinking there was a plan, an art behind it? What on earth did he fancy he was playing at? Had he been, on each and every of those walks, eyeing off the hedgerows for a secluded patch of springy grass? Worse than a Miss King, did he think she had light heels? Heavens, would she have had, were he to have taken advantage further of the situation and removed his wet apparel? If Jane knew of the situation, she would have dressed down Elizabeth for so compromising herself. If Jane were here, she would tell Lizzy, and rightly so, that she had created this situation her own self, by stepping out for walks unchaperoned. If Jane were here, then Elizabeth could tell her of Mr Darcy’s perfidy, and take instruction from her directly, rather than floundering in a hall without direction, and thinking of her own behaviour so ruefully. She should have taken a sister, or a Mr Collins. She had been wrong to imagine herself safe. After the last winter, she should have known better than to imagine any safety was left to exist in the world, and to do so had been the act of a foolish girl, and not that of a sensible woman of almost one and twenty. 

Elizabeth sucked her finger ruefully, and resumed sewing, with slightly less vigour and slightly more repression, and with a tickle in her throat. She should have known better. That first night, with his eyebrows raised so high above his company, that first impression had been correct. He was a man governed solely by pride and status and no good judge of character. Moreover, he had turned out Wickham to fend for himself amid the fearful ‘virus, rather than afford him a place on his estate, which once more she had forgot in examining her own particular complaints, and those of her sister, and what kind of gentleman did such a thing, in such a time? No gentleman at all. No matter how well favoured or well fortuned. Perhaps she should take her own advice, and start to consider gentlemen of little means, and less airs. She set herself to summon up the image of a certain grey blue eyed person of her acquaintance, but his likeness would not come, only the caricature figuring of his curls, as drawn by her youngest sister, who had never been blessed with artistic talent. No, it would not do. She could not force affection for a pencilled drawing, and the only eyes that would appear in the noisy hall, were those of brown, with amused crinkles that remembered the trout stream, and she did not wish to think kindly of them when she was so cross. To call Jane a fortune hunter and unsuitable! Yes, there was the anger again, much better. 

The hall was full of women sewing industriously, each preparing something of utility, each contributing to a path forward, to rebuilding Hunsford after the devastation, just as Jane did, just as she herself was doing, and who was he to pass judgment on any of them as unsuitable? There was a further series of coughs and Elizabeth rubbed at her own chest in response. She realised that firstly, she had oversewn the work pants, and nipped the thread sharply, depositing them on the pile, and shaking out her fingers, and secondly, that she had a splitting headache, one that she had caused herself with ill temper and eyestrain. 

She made her excuses to her sister, and returned to the Collins’ residence, and with a plate of cheese and lightly buttered toast, she retreated to her room, and did not emerge for the remainder of the day, and Miss Kitty Bennett was left to brave the den of Lady Catherine without her. Mr Collins did not, of course, count as company either in the eyes of the younger Catherine or the elder titled one. Kitty did remonstrate bitterly with her elder sisters, that she had not intended to come to Hunsford to be sent as a lamb to the slaughter, but neither were moved, although both were impressed that at least one Bible verse had sunk in, between the bonnet patterns. 

On her return, she informed Elizabeth that she was not intending to repeat the experiment. Not only had Lady Catherine been ‘horrid unpleasant’ and made her play scales, and Bach, and Elizabeth knew that Bach gave her a headache, but both the Colonel and Mr Darcy had asked her question after question about her sisters, and never one question about herself, and was not Kitty as interesting a subject as a Jane or an Elizabeth? Oh, and Mr Darcy was very concerned for her health. 

The bed was most uncomfortable, all full of prickles and cold patches, where the previous night it had been nothing but smooth and warm. Elizabeth firmly wished Mr Darcy as ill a night’s sleep as she was having, he and his dimples as well.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth avoids things, she is well aware. She is well practiced.  
> However, not even she can avoid all things forever.  
> (especially not this one)  
> (especially not Mr Darcy)

The morning brewed sunshine and blue skies bright and clear, the air was crisp and fragrant with spring flowers and Elizabeth had made certain decisions. No more should she walk the woods of Rosings Park, or even the laneways about Hunsford, alone, no matter how beguiling the day. If certain gentlemen considered themselves too good for common society, then common society should not be given to them. Further, no more would she bow to polite conventions of conversation. Mr Darcy should not receive the time of day, should he ask it of her. And, further more, she would not be visiting Rosings Park again. 

She discovered, over breakfast of lightly buttered toast and hard boiled eggs, that this was a step too far.

“Dear sister,” said Mr Collins, “Lady Catherine was most concerned by your absence yesterday. It was felt most keenly. Kitty’s presence will not suffice, I fear. She is a mother without a daughter, if you will recall, and it is your duty, nay, your privilege, to try to fill that gap, while you are with us. I am certain Mrs Collins feels the same.”

Mary looked at Elizabeth, mutely. Elizabeth felt a great many things were being conveyed to her which she did not want to receive, but she was too familiar with her sister to deny them. Whatever had passed between Mary and Lady Catherine, she could only guess, but for the marital harmony of the Collins, and the retention of his living, she could not, in good conscience, deny the request for the sake of her anger. 

“Very well. But Kitty, mind, my presence does not excuse you the scales. For if you are practising, you will not be obliged to speak.”

Kitty, appeased, took another cup of tea.

Chores and breakfast concluded, Kitty and Elizabeth donned their bonnets, and Mr Collins bade Mary farewell, as she betook herself on one of the many charitable tasks that she had created for herself. Mr Collins spoke of inconsequential things, and Kitty presumably responded adequately for both, as Elizabeth did not pay either any attention as they walked the drive to Rosings Park, turning over possible conversation paths, and rejoinders, and rejecting all as being insufficiently final. 

The drawing room was as dark as ever, and Elizabeth was not entirely to blame for kicking Mr Darcy’s foot, hard, as she entered. Not entirely. That gentleman sprung to his feet, but she continued on her way to the more comfortable seating, closer to Lady Catherine.

“Ah, Miss Bennett. You were missed yesterday. I trust you are feeling better,” said Lady Catherine, and appeared to actually mean it. “The gentlemen were very dull without your wit to keep them on their toes.”

“Your ladyship is, as ever, entirely correct,” said Mr Collins. “For what is man without woman?”

Elizabeth shot him an incredulous look and made a mental note to have a very serious discussion with Mary when they returned for lunch.

“Are you feeling better? Do you require the services of a physician?” asked Mr Darcy solicitously.

Elizabeth felt that it would not be quite the thing to cut him completely dead. “Thank you, I am fine. It was but a headache.”

Mr Darcy would not be dissuaded. “Perhaps it was merely the lack of fresh air, Miss Bennett. To be indoors in spring, when the world is finding its way back to life? That cannot be recommended. The Colonel and I enjoyed a pleasant afternoon stealing her ladyship’s early strawberries. If you would care to sample them yourself, I am sure that we are both at your disposal. The patch is but a short walk, and I am certain would do you good.”

The Colonel leaned forward from his armchair and into lamplight. “They do say that strawberry leaves make a maiden fair, but Darcy would say that you have no need of them, eh?” He laughed at his own joke and Elizabeth felt her pulse race and fist clench.

“Thank you both,” she said, between gritted teeth. “I have promised my company to my sister this afternoon. Another time, perhaps.”

Lady Catherine cleared her throat. “Oh, I am certain your sister can spare you. Speaking of sisters, young Kitty, to the piano, if you please. As I said yesterday, you will never get any better unless you practice. And you shall not be returning to Longbourn worse for your time here. Piano!”

Kitty, with many a stern look thrown upon her sister through the gloom, pushed herself up from the sofa, and made her way to the piano, and out of Lady Catherine’s sight. The sound of piano scales soon ensued, and Elizabeth had to confess that firstly, Kitty did seem to be improving, and secondly, she was grateful for the clamour, as it covered her lack of conversation. 

“Now, Miss Eliza, if you please,” said the Colonel. “we were discussing, I do recall, matters of great weight, the last time we met. Remind me, if you please, what we left outstanding.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. The only matters she could recall from that conversation was that which could not be spoken of, Anne de Bourgh, and the one of chief significance to her, that of Jane, and Bingley, and Darcy’s interference and her anger once again rose. “I think, sir, that I would hear you speak of your time abroad. Did you say that you had travelled to India, before the ‘virus?”

“Indeed, I did,” said the Colonel. Elizabeth seemed to have hit the right note, as the Colonel then spoke in glowing tones, much as the Hursts had done, of the South East nations, dwelling long on their warmth, and the heat not just from the climes, but from the spices, the chillies that enflamed the senses, and the round sensation of the nutmegs and cloves, and the zing of the lime, such that she could almost taste them, in the bland butter shortbread that the butler had provided to her. Lady Catherine asked some questions appertaining to the buildings located in the countries he had visited, and Elizabeth fancied that should she return to Rosings Park next year, she would expect to see a rounded temple structure or two barnacled on, and at the very least, a lionheaded dog statue. The Colonel concluding on that topic, Elizabeth was concerned not to give Mr Darcy an opening to engage her.

“Lady Catherine,” she asked, “I am very taken by your hounds. Such long noses, and expressive ears.”

“Yes,” Lady Catherine replied, fondly, as one leant up against Elizabeth’s legs, warm and comforting. “I do say that they are sweet dogs, but that is to be expected, they come from good stock. As fast as the wind, when they run, but then most of the day they do sleep, and as you have discovered, seek affection. No sense at all when they are on the chase and nowhere near as much staying power as our farm dogs, but what they lack in sense, they make up for in grace. You shall have to see them in full stride one day, most diverting. Darcy has some from a couple of our litters, do you not?”

Elizabeth felt her heart sink to its pits. For there was his opening, and of course he would take it. 

“Miss Bennett, I would be delighted to provide you with a pup, when next ours litter. If you are at all interested. I am certain that you would take to hounds, just as Lady Catherine’s has taken to you.” 

It would be impolite not to look at him, and so she did, and regretted it immediately, as the lamplight showed his face to good advantage, and his brown eyes were even more melting than usual, and as for his crinkles and dimples? It would not do. She turned her face back to the dog, now depositing its head on her leg for pats, which she dispensed assiduously, as it gave her a reason to continue not to look in his direction. 

“Thank you, sir, but such an offer would need to go before my father, who has often declared that no new animal shall enter the house without his approval. Kitty will remember well the summer of Lydia’s rabbits.” And there, she had been light and flirtatious, when she did not mean to be at all. It would not do.

Kitty’s scales came to an end, and she began with a very heavy handed Bach, where the harmonies missed each other, and as for the counterpoint, it was less melodic than crashingly inept, and Lady Catherine began to offer suggestion and criticism. Elizabeth felt Mr Darcy’s gaze upon her once more. It would not do. 

She called to mind Jane’s letter, how she had overlaid her recounts of the masked folk of London with the loneliness of longing for Mr Bingley and not encountering him once the whole visit. Jane’s face and the tiredness that she glimpsed when Jane thought no one saw. It would not do at all.

“I expect, Mr Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “that your hounds are all of exemplary breeding, and you would never tolerate anything less.”

Mr Darcy looked oddly at her. “The dogs are bred for speed and sense, Miss Elizabeth. I leave the details to the dogs and my grooms.”

“Oh, of course. I would not expect otherwise. My father breeds orchids, but those are slightly more polite in their propagation. I understand from him, however, that no matter how rigorous his pollination methods, there are invariably some who choose their own path, and their offspring are the better for it. Social climbers, one might say. No doubt you would not approve.”

Mr Darcy’s smile appeared to wane, a little. “I am no botanist, madam.”

“And botany, no doubt my sister Jane would say, is no subject for a drawing room. I believe we have conversed enough for one morning, and Kitty appears to be drawing to a close. Mr Collins, I do think we have trespassed on Lady Catherine’s goodwill enough for today, do you not? She must have many demands on her time, and we cannot be greedy for all of it.”

Mr Collins looked startled, and then guilty. “My dear Lady Catherine, I must beg your pardon. I once more have overstepped. I shall touch on the subject in this weekend’s address, for those who can see their faults and take steps to mend them are happy indeed. Yes.”

Mr Darcy’s eyes appeared to match those of the hound she had been patting, reproachful that she had stopped, and yet seeking for more attention. “A laudatory notion, Mr Collins. Would we were all the same.”

Kitty looked a trifle annoyed to be so summoned. “I had not quite got that bit out, Lizzie. I cannot feel relief until I have it. It is like working a splinter out, you know.”

“You will return tomorrow,” commanded Lady Catherine. “You may come before your sister and Mr Collins, if you will, and play. In this parlor, if you please. This piano can do with the exercise. The one in the housekeeper’s wing is quite out of tune and will not do for your practice, I see. Not if you are to attain true harmony.”

“Thank you, Lady Catherine. You are an angel,” said Kitty, and that Lady looked quite startled herself to be so addressed. Elizabeth thought she detected a smile from Mr Darcy, but it was too dark to make out, and besides, she was trying not to look.

That afternoon, Elizabeth again devoted herself to Mary’s parish duties, although with slightly less vigour, and eyestrain, and felt the better for it. To be seated, although socially distant, and with masks and gloves still donned, in the company of women who knew each other, and were working for a common cause, and had their own concerns, and lives to lead and were not interested in interrogating her about her own, was the balm which she required to counteract the darkened drawing room of the morning, and the anger of the previous day. To find, on return to Hunsford, a calling card from Mr Darcy, was vexing. Kitty was full of questions as to why the gentleman should have called, and Mary sent her to the kitchen to instead peel potatoes. 

In her room, alone, after supper, Elizabeth studied the card. It was of good weight, and colour, and told her absolutely nothing about why the gentleman had come. She determined that on the morrow if he were also, as she imagined he would be, in the darkened drawing room, she would not mention it, unless he did. On the bedstand it went, under a book, so that she did not have to look at it. Perhaps, she determined, it would be better if she did not mention any of what she had learnt to Jane at all. After a sense, what difference did it make? If the gentleman had been warned off, he would not be warmed back on by threatening Mr Darcy with reproach for his ungentlemanly interference. No. Jane should be left to continue to heal from her bout with the ‘virus, and her bout with the more infectious affections, without the information, for no good would it do her.

The morrow came, a wettish spring shower, that faded with the sun, and left crystalline patterns on all the grass, delightful until one had to walk in it to feed the pigs, and collect the eggs, and carry out the sundry duties that a Lady Catherine would not even contemplate. The fact that each of the Collins mucked in with a will, and had feet just as wet as a Bennett sister made it less a chore, and all the wet stockings were hung in the laundry in the warm patch made by the sun to dry, steaming. Yesterday’s masks were now dry, and set to, and masks and gloves for the day taken from the sterilised clean pile. Kitty was most certain that she had lost a single glove and insisted that she turn the piles over, until she found it balled inside the other, still damp from the wash, as is always the way. 

A second pair of stockings donned for each, and in Kitty’s case a second pinafore, and breakfast was had. Porridge, and honey, with fresh milk, is nothing to be sneezed at, and little conversation, mercifully, was had as a result. Mary recounted to her husband some complaints of the parishioners, those who needed extra wood at this end of the end of the winter, those who were still weakened by the ‘virus and for whom the pastures had not yet been tilled, despite Lady Catherine’s promises for assistance, and Mr Collins vowed faithfully to raise them with that Lady’s steward, again. 

Then, there was nothing for it but to brave the gates of Rosings Park again, for another dutiful visit. Elizabeth questioned her conscience again as to whether she could justify insulting Mr Darcy to his face in front of his aunt, and risk Mr Collins’ living and by extension that of one sister, to redeem the honour of the other, and with regret concluded that it was not. What could not be addressed head on today would need to be endured until the time was meet, whenever that would be.

Kitty had not, as promised, had to wait on her elder sister and Mr Collins, and was already seated and at work at the piano on Elizabeth’s entry, so that she was able to make her way into the drawing room unnoticed. Lady Catherine was seated rather closer to the piano than previously, and was watching Kitty’s fingers attentively, with finger raised on a stumble, and a nod on a recovery. Colonel Fitzwilliams was reading over a newspaper, and in another world. Mr Darcy was staring blankly at a wall, and not at a book that he held, and had he been in her good books, she should have teased him that the parlor was not the place for slumber, but as it was, she was grateful for the opportunity to avoid the conversation and observe that gentleman unaware. He did not look like someone to thwart a pair of lovers, rather he looked slightly troubled, slightly preoccupied with a problem he could not tease out. She observed him to wince at several musical collisions, so it was apparent that he had, at least, more of an ear than he let on at Netherfield, and was not otherwise interested in her sister, or Lady Catherine, as he did not attend to their movements one iota. He studied his hands a great deal, turning his signet ring over and over and over again. He did not smile, and paid only perfunctory attention to his cousin when that gentleman sought to engage over an article that he was reading. He did not look quite comfortable, as he sat, as he crossed, and uncrossed his legs and creased his pants, and adjusted his shirt, without discernable reason. She could not quite manage the ire that she had felt the day before, or the anger of the day before that, but irritation, that she felt, every time his legs shifted or he tugged at his fine shirt fabric. 

Would that Mr Collins had stayed at home, or gone with Kitty, or gone at any time without her! He had taken his wife’s suggestions seriously, as so he should, and had taken ten minutes to speak with Lady Catherine’s steward, so that his entrance at a time when Kitty had made a particularly spectacular series of errors and brought Bach to a cacophony of positively atrocious noise was very loud, and very marked, and the whole room swung about and stared. While Lady Catherine and Kitty looked with exasperation on Mr Collins, as he offered up humble apologies for disturbing his fair cousin and his noble patroness, the Colonel looked with animated pleasure on Elizabeth as she sat, composed on her sofa, and Mr Darcy’s countenance could not be read, she did not know him well enough to decipher whether that blankness denoted pleasure or surprise or anger or bemusement, it was exceedingly unreadable, and she felt unsettled, and even less inclined to converse. 

“I think that will do, Kitty,” said Lady Catherine. “I do think that with some more attention to that middle section, you will improve. Hear it in your mind, not in your fingers. Plait it together like a braid. Now, tea.”

She shepherded them to the tea table and tapped it imperiously, and the butler scurried to the door, to be passed the tray by the footman, only rattling a fraction as he moved through the dark, and managing not to trip on any furniture or foot. The butler poured out the tea, and passed the rich tea biscuits, and Elizabeth managed to avoid the eyes of all, busying herself with spoon, and saucer, until Lady Catherine addressed her directly and she could no longer hide. However, she took more care to be as mundane, uninteresting and non flirtatious as she could, and Lady Catherine looked somewhat disappointed at the conclusion, as the Hunsford party made their thanks and left. 

Stepping out of the park gates, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to keep in check her temper, never an easy task, and to restrain her wit and tendency to tease, an almost impossible one, and with any luck, would manage to avoid any further singular attention from either the Colonel, or Mr Darcy. 

Luncheon was taken, and the Collins repaired to the church hall to meet with the village improvement committee. It seemed to Lizzie that the life of a parson did include many more meetings with such committees, and informal peacemaking than she had anticipated. She did wonder to Kitty, as the Collins left, whether Mary had viewed her years with her many sisters as a mere practice run for this role, but only briefly, as Kitty demanded her company to walk back to Rosings Park, so that she could practice for yet another hour, and once that task was completed, and Elizabeth returned back to Hunsford, she could feel exactly what the ‘virus had done to her lungs, even though it had not been as bad a bout as others of which she had heard. It was not pleasant. It was exceedingly unpleasant to have to struggle a little for a full breath, and it was a providence that the Collins had a sufficiently long sofa in the sitting room to enable a young lady to stretch out to catch her breath, as she did not feel quite at ease climbing the stairs quite so far. It was in that relaxed attitude, after she had had not more than five minutes repose, that there was a firm rap at the door.

She toyed with the idea of not sitting up, and wondered whether she would be visible from the windows, if whoever was rapping took it upon themselves to investigate further. She did not know the house, and its gardens, as well as Longbourn, where she knew all the nooks to so hide. There was a decent chance that she was visible, and she was too old, in good conscience, to be able to play it off as a game. No, it would be rudeness, and it would not play well for the Collins, or for her. Best to answer the knock.

She regretted her decision almost immediately on opening the door, but it would have been even ruder to take the action her heart demanded, and slam the door in Mr Darcy’s face.  
“Good afternoon, sir. I am afraid that the Collins are not home at present. Perhaps if you return in an hour?” She made to shut the door again.

“Thank you,” said Mr Darcy, making no move to retreat. “May I beg a moment of your time, Miss Bennett.”

To turn down a polite request, so directly asked, would have been difficult. “Do come in,” she managed.

She shut the door behind him, for there was nothing else to be done, and sought to remove some of the creases from her dress. If there were creases on her face, well, there was little she could do for that.

The Collins’ drawing room was very small, compared to Rosings Park, of course, but at least had the virtue of being very well lit, with windows that faced over the front garden. Even so, Mr Darcy seemed to take up more than a usual amount of the room, more certainly than Mr Collins could ever hope. She wondered, briefly, as Mr Darcy took his seat on an armchair that instantly looked too small to hold him, whether Mr Collins would be able to bear the excitement of Mr Darcy coming to call upon his house, and then in the instant whether it would be possible to conceal from Mr Collins that he had done so, for she did not want to speak further of Mr Darcy than she had to. 

No sooner than Mr Darcy had seated himself than he appeared to become uncomfortable, with colour high in his cheeks, and unsettled in his breathing, and stood once more, to try another seat. That, too, was rejected, and he did not assay the remainder. He stood by the window, with his arms folded behind him. Then, he stood at the other side of the window, and unbuttoned his jacket further, and removed his mask. Elizabeth waited, to see if he would shift attitude again, but that seemed to be it. 

She waited further to see if he would speak, but he did not seem to be inclined to do so.

“Shall I fetch some tea?” she asked, finally, but he shook his head.

She sat on the sofa, and clasped her hands on her knees, neatly, and waited. To do anything else would have been impolite. Then she remembered that she did not mind, for his aunt was not here.

“Is there something I can assist you with, Mr Darcy? Or do you merely require a drawing room in which to stand? I warrant that there are many such at Rosings Park, and with chairs that are more comfortable. Do not let me keep you.”

“No, I beg of you. I have missed our conversations, and since there were none to be had out of doors, I have come to find them here,” he responded, “as I know that all good things must come to an end, and surely your visit at Hunsford will not be indefinite.” 

“No,” she said. “we will leave in a week’s time. If I understand nothing else from my new cousin, it is this, that the highlight of my visit is to be the daily visits to Lady Catherine and her drawing room, and you will find me there, sirrah.”

“Ah,” said he. “But not, if I understand correctly, the conversations that I have come to enjoy, where I am not Mr Darcy, but Fitzwilliam, and I have the privilege of using your first name, Elizabeth. The ‘virus has taught me nothing if not this, that the time we have on this earth is like the skin of a bubble, and as thin and uncertain. In that space that we have, I have found that despite my struggles, the violence of my feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how much I have come to admire, and love you. I beg that you relieve my suffering by consenting to become my wife.”

Elizabeth stared at him blankly. This would not do at all.


	25. Mr Darcy's crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Darcy waxes elaborate, and really should not have. 
> 
> Elizabeth should be slightly more attentive, but who of us can be, when we allow our passions to govern us?

Elizabeth closed her eyes momentarily, in case this was part of an elaborate dream her own mind had constructed. It did not assist, for when she opened them, Mr Darcy was not only still there, but had moved closer and appeared most concerned.

“You are unwell, Elizabeth? May I fetch you some tea? A doctor?” he said most earnestly.

Elizabeth sighed. “I do not believe that you know where either is in this house, and I need neither in any case. Please, will you sit down? I cannot bear to have you stand about in this manner, as if you were lecturing me. Take a seat, do.“

Looking somewhat flushed, Mr Darcy did as he was bade, once more dwarfing the easy chair he had selected, but at least at equal height, so that her neck did not ache quite so much. 

Then, he began to speak once more. “I know our circumstances in life are very different, and that many may find our union surprising. I find it surprising myself, when I think on it. My family, and my station are of the highest, and I should, as my aunt reminds me, think of my heritage, and my past, and comport myself accordingly. But I have found myself bewitched by a wood nymph, and unable to imagine any future for myself without her. My life, without you, lacks meaning, and colour, and most of all light. Do not be so cruel as to deny me the only hope I have of joy in this existence, now that I have found you.” He paused, and Elizabeth hoped that he had finished.

However, he had not. “I have met a thousand women, many of whom are exceedingly more accomplished. Many more stylish. All of whom indisputably are of higher birth. And yet, none of them haunt my dreams. Fascinate me with a raised eyebrow, as you are doing now. Why that should be, I know not, but I do know that the only remedy is to be found before an altar and with you by my side.”

She waited to see if there would be more. There was.

“I have struggled against my feelings now for too long. I am well aware that by doing this, I will be going against my aunt’s firm instructions, my heritage, and the expectations of society. I know only too well by the behaviour of your family, that you have not had the guidance that would have been most useful to assume your rank by my side in society, or even to manage a household and estate such as Pemberley, and I will be rebuked roundly for choosing a partner in life who is not of my rank. But I find that I do not care, my Elizabeth, for any of that, if only you will consent to be my wife. Will you?”

Elizabeth waited to see if there would be more. 

This time, there was not. Only a very earnest look, and more of a flush on his cheeks than before, as the gentleman bit his lip in anticipation of her answer, but with a half smile that betrayed his confidence of her affirmative answer. 

“In cases such as these, sir, I believe the accepted mode is to thank you, Mr Darcy, for the honour of your attentions, and I would, if I felt that it would be reflective of my feelings. But I do not feel gratitude, indeed. The answer, sir, is no.” She waited, holding her hands firmly together, ankles together, shoulders back and head high as it would go, and willed her face to be still and serene. She feared it was not. Mr Darcy’s face certainly was not either.

There was silence in the room, broken only by the sound of laboured breathing. 

“I confess you have me at a disadvantage, if you are jesting with me. I have never done this before, to be accepted or rejected and I know very well your propensity to tease. Are you, in fact, teasing me?” Mr Darcy sat on the edge of his chair, with a half smile. Elizabeth felt that he was watching her mouth with a great deal too much interest, and she willed her lips to stop tingling. 

“I am not, sir. I am sensible of the honour you are offering, but I never sought it. I am certain that amongst the ranks of more noble women, you shall find a more willing recipient, there are plenty enough even with the attrition of the ‘virus. The answer, as I said, is no.” She waited for the response, with her hands more firmly clasped than before.

Mr Darcy stood. He walked from one side of the room to the other, which did not take a great deal of effort, as the size of the room was not large, as has been said before, but his breathing had become more laboured still. 

He stood, holding the mantelpiece firmly. “And this is all the reply I am to receive? I thought that we were better friends than that. I thought – well, it does not matter what I thought, but I do think I am entitled to understand why I am to be so curtly refused.” 

“Entitled, sir! I think you have cut to the heart of it without the explanation. Your every word, sir, is uttered without regard for the feelings of others. I know only too well how much better an estate you hold than does my father, without reminder, and you cannot think my family so avid a collection of fortune hunters that such an insulting proposal would be overlooked, and your offer grasped nonetheless, like a falconer restraining a wayward bird? Sir, I am no Daphne to be pursued, nor one of that ilk who sets out to lure a hunter into the woods to his doom. If that is truly what you think of me, then not only will I not consent to be your wife, I will ask you to leave this house immediately.” She paused to catch her breath, as her lungs protested, and she tried to modulate the volume of her rebuke. But to little avail.

“Even if, sir, even if you had addressed me as a gentleman should, which you have not, that mark was well undershot, and even if my feelings were disposed kindly towards you, which at the present they most decidedly are not, even then, nothing could tempt me to accept the hand of the man who has ruined my sister’s life,” she pronounced sternly, and watched Mr Darcy’s face for evidence of guilt.  
However, although his colour had again risen, and his breath had become yet more laboured, he appeared more confused than guilty. 

“Miss Bennett, I do not quite follow. Is it Kitty we are speaking of, and her adventures on the pianoforte with Lady Catherine? For I do not think additional piano practice is doing that young lady any harm. Or is it Mrs Collins? You cannot blame the manners of Mr Collins on me, although I own that through my aunt he has been influenced into any manner of silliness, to wit, this drawing room mantlepiece is most overwrought for the size of this room. For that, I can apologise on behalf of my aunt.” 

Elizabeth stood, as he appeared to be trying to smile down at her. “I speak of my sister Jane. It is not, sir, a subject for levity. Do you deny, sir, that you deliberately interfered in her match with Mr Bingley by painting her as a fortune hunter of the worst kind, as you have just now painted me?” Her palms itched with a most unladylike desire to smite his cheeks, even more red now than before.

“I will not do you the insult of pretending I do not know of what you speak, or blaming it merely on Mr Bingley’s duties at the mills. No, to my friend, I have been kinder, more protective than to myself, and I congratulate myself on that success, at least.” 

“Congratulate yourself? Yes, I imagine you do. You are a gentleman very sure of himself, are you not? Even if it were not for the treatment of my most belov’d sister Jane, I should have known from almost the very first moment of our acquaintance that you were not a real gentleman. Setting aside your characterisation of me as ‘merely tolerable’ for I am not speaking of that trivial slight. No, what I speak of is far worse. No real gentleman dishonours his father’s dying wishes, in the way that you did? Mr Wickham has suffered greatly at your hands, both by your refusal to grant the living he was promised, and you turning him off the estate during the height of the ‘virus. How could you sir? Common humanity should have cried out from within you to protect your fellow man. And yet, you would not. What, sir, was your reason for choosing to set aside compassion? I can only think it stems from the root of all my other reproaches, your pride for the position in society that you earnt by no other means than by your birth, a travail that was chiefly performed by your mother, and not you. Your pride, sir, is likely to lead to his death, and at the very least, his great misfortune.”

Mr Darcy looked rather as if she had slapped him, as his red had faded completely to white. He gripped the mantlepiece even more tightly.

“His misfortune? Oh, yes, Mr Wickham’s misfortune, my rank and my villainy is all of a piece in your eyes, I am sure.” He turned towards the window abruptly.

“Do not make light of it, sir. Even one such as yourself should feel some guilt for his actions,” she said as firmly as she could muster. 

“Such as myself! Well. I am grateful, Miss Bennett, for your full recount of my faults. I am grateful for your time in expounding them, for they are so very many and so very severe. I wonder at you allowing me to remain in the same room as you! But I wonder, also, whether my many and terrible faults might have been overlooked, had I offered you my hand in a less honest manner. But dishonesty is beneath me, and I will not stoop to it, not even for your sake. The scruples I relayed are natural, for one in my position, and I cannot pretend that they do not exist. Did you expect, madam, that I should rejoice at finding myself at the foot of a woman of such a family as yours?”

Elizabeth breathed in deeply. “Thank you, sir, for speaking quite so frankly. I understand you completely, and can provide you with a firm reassurance that your offer would not have been accepted, no matter the mode of its delivery.”

Mr Darcy turned back, and she was startled to see that he was as blanched as the driven snow. It looked as if he would interject, and so she went on pre-emptively. “Your lack of manners, sir, merely spared me any need to treat you as if you were the gentleman you consider yourself to be. Your scruples concerning your offer are mistaken. You are not worthy to make the offer in the first instance. Nor would you be if the ‘virus left you the last man alive in England.”

Mr Darcy swayed on his feet, as if she had indeed struck him with her hand. “Enough, madam. I understand you completely in return. I – I will take up no more of your time, since my presence is so repugnant to you. My best wishes for your future health in these troubling times.”

He did not look at her as he left the room, which was as well, as Elizabeth was no longer mistress of her emotions, and angry tears had emerged from the corners of her eyes. She heard the front door shut, and allowed herself to sit back down. Then she heard a great clamour, and Mr Collins’ exclaiming from the front yard. 

Rushing out to see the matter could be, and expecting nothing more than that one of the pigs had escaped once more, she was horrified to find Mr Darcy lying prostrate on the ground, pale as skimmed milk. 

“Cousin Eliza!” exclaimed Mr Collins. “He is burning hot! Whatever have you done to poor Mr Darcy?” 

Indeed, Elizabeth could not say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise most profusely, even more so than my Mr Collins. But I promise that if at the end of all of this I am alive, so shall my Darcy and Elizabeth be, and this is most definitely a HEA version, just with a lot more COVID related plot contrivances. 
> 
> On a more light hearted note, our local bakery has a most excellent fig leaf bread, for lightly buttered toast (of course). If anyone has a recipe, I should be exceedingly grateful.


	26. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mr Darcy is able to explain himself, without interruptions, in absentia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is exhausting being Mr Darcy.

It seemed that everything was happening both very quickly and at such a slow pace that she could see the dust motes shiver in the air. A carriage was fetched for Mr Darcy, post haste, such that he might be delivered to the care of Lady Catherine. In vain did Mr Collins protest that he would be most honoured if Mr Darcy might take his own, excellent, bed, and he and Mrs Collins would sleep in the now disused servants’ quarters, Kitty and Elizabeth sharing the guest room as they currently did, the gentleman was most firm in his refusal, once he came to. Elizabeth was as much relieved as Mr Collins was disappointed. From a purely Christian perspective on the one hand, Elizabeth would not wish Mr Darcy truly as ill as he was, even after the way in which he had behaved. She could not imagine that Mr Collins’ attentions, however kindly meant, would bring him any comfort. For herself, however, she wished him as far away as was safe, so that she could hate him in peace. His proposal had been very like the fabled curate’s egg, excellent in parts and exceedingly bad in others, and she could not feel sympathetic for him for long, or guilty at contributing to his discomfort, before veering back into molten rage. Mr Collins assured Mr Darcy that they would self isolate for a fortnight, and Mr Darcy did not look like he much cared whether Mr Collins consigned himself to the devil, although he did cast a final look at Elizabeth, from the interior of the carriage, that appeared almost reproachful. 

Inside, after Mary pronounced Elizabeth fever free, Mr Collins had a great many questions for her which she would not answer. For how to tell one such as Mr Collins that he could have, in even an extended sense, been related to Lady Catherine and Elizabeth had crushed that possibility? It was unimaginable. Fortuitously, after an unendurable hour of unanswered questions interspersed with lectures about proper behaviour by both Mr and Mrs Collins, a Rosings’ Park footman appeared with a note, which immediately captured Mr Collins’ attention.

“My dear,” said he to his wife. “We are to send Kitty’s things to Rosings’. She has been very greatly honoured indeed – she is to stay and isolate there. Such condescension as I had never dreamed of imagining! She is truly fortunate indeed.”

“William,” said Mary sternly. “We must presume tis the ‘virus. There is no need for you or I or Elizabeth or Kitty to isolate, either here or at Rosings’ Park. We have had it, and one must assume that we are no more or less infectious for having been exposed to Mr Darcy than we were without such exposure. It is simple logic.”

Mr Collins looked confused, and then confusion lifted. “I have no doubt that what you say is correct, my dear. You are very good at that sort of thing. However, we must be seen to be doing the right thing, even if it is not actually the right thing, as an example. Our congregation look to us as a model, and indeed, so many of them have had the ‘virus as well. But there are those that have not, and we must shield them. I was wrong, I see now, to not make more effort to isolate during the last wave. Happy are those who see their faults, and can put them to mend – my congregation shall see me do right by them this time. Even if it is not actually necessary. I trust we shall manage.”

Mary turned away and sighed. “Yes, I trust we will. In God, all things are possible.” However, Elizabeth could see her sister turning her eyes to the heavens in a manner that did not indicate prayer. Once again, she marvelled at the infinite variety of tastes, for had Elizabeth found herself married to Mr Collins, and engaged in marital discourse of this nature, it would have been necessary for one or other of them to find an early grave.

Then she recalled her present, and the proposal, and the enraging befevered Mr Darcy, and excused herself for the solace of solitude and a room without observers. It was understandable that a few angry tears should emerge, once alone and safely behind closed doors and closed curtains. She had said some fairly unforgiveable things. To say that he had said worse, and first, was not an excuse. And for him to then collapse! To you, and you alone, would she confess that her pillow may have been soaked through, although she could not quite put her finger on the cause behind the emotion. It had been quite an afternoon. 

After she had dried her eyes and regained her composure, she packed her bags. Then she unpacked them. It would not be possible, following Mary’s pronouncement, to stage a hasty retreat to Longbourn, of the kind that she most desired. No, instead, she would be left to fester, as well as she could be following her earlier bout with the ‘virus, in the confines of Hunsford, with only the company of her most serious sister, and her most ridiculous (albeit only) brother in law. The prospect was not appealing, although better than enduring the pain that the ‘virus had brought her the first time around.  
How had she once taken such freedoms for granted? To be free of the continual fear of contagion, of not knowing whether this person or other, these goods or other, this event or other would be the one to bring the contagion? More, from this last week, to be free of these perplexing feelings, quite at odds with each other. How could the same gentleman be the cause of them both? The entire situation was entirely too difficult and complex to be puzzled through alone, and she determined not to attempt it. Perhaps if Jane had been present, or Elizabeth’s feelings less engaged, she would have attempted a spirited defence of Mr Darcy’s manners on account of his high fever, but she was not, and Elizabeth was too angry still to attempt it, although she did spend some time, as she lay in bed chasing down the sleep that evaded her, speculating as to that gentleman’s wellbeing, and state of mind.

In the morning, a glorious bright sunny spring morning, filled with all the promise of flowers and life to come, and the birds singing merrily in the garden about the house, she felt more able to approach the situation with calm. She ate her lightly buttered toast with equanimity, as Mr Collins speculated wildly concerning how Lady Catherine might be faring, and took suggestion from his wife as to the best manner of distribution for his newsletter in lieu of a sermon for the next fortnight. She sipped her tea as Mary outlined her thinking as to what should be in said sermon. Finally, she fed the pigs and chickens, as the Collins retired to their office to write said sermon. Worse mornings have been had.

It had been roughly forty six turns of the garden since lunch had been taken, and Elizabeth was no longer quite as content with the silence as she had been. Inconvenient snippets of Mr Darcy’s proposal were intruding, and she very much wished for some element of distraction, for the good parts and the bad parts were circulating as if it were her head that was fevered, rather than his. One instant she raged against his professed superiority, his pride in his handiwork in breaking her sister’s match, and his insults to her family, and then next she heard his voice, sweet and low, calling her his wood nymph, and conjuring up his dimples. It very much would not do. As if summoned into the universe, a Rosings Park footman appeared at the front gate, with a letter, which was indeed extremely distracting, as it was addressed to Miss E Bennett. By the shakiness of the hand that had written the inscription, she had a fair idea of the author, and that it would not be her sister who had written.  
Mr Collins insisted on sterilising the exterior, and the interior, but promised on his honour as a clergyman, that he would not read it. Elizabeth could see Mary struggling, as their father had been very much of the view that he should read, or at least skim, any missive addressed to his daughters, since an unfortunate incident with Jane, and some very explicit poetry written by an overenthusiastic admirer. Ultimately Mary must have considered that Mr Darcy, however fevered, was a man of better taste, and did not intervene. 

Elizabeth toyed with the idea of leaving it unread, or better yet, burning it unread. The fire was crackling in the drawing room, as the early morning sunshine had faded in its intensity post midday, and the Collins having retired for a further session of sermon writing, or whatever it was that married couples choose to do behind closed doors, it was up to her to determine the most sensible action. There was a smudge where the ink had bled, and the heat from the iron had set it wrong, Although the writing was shaky, it appeared most determined, as the letter writer had left deep the stroke of the E and the B, as if he was relying on the strength of the initial to push himself through the word. It would be churlish, and beneath her, to leave unread a letter that had taxed the writer so greatly. For that reason, and no other that should would admit either to herself, or to you, she opened the broken seal, and drew out its contents. 

Dear Miss Bennett

Please do me the honour of reading this letter. Since you have been so good as to open it, I wager that you hold at least some balm of forgiveness for the manner of my address, and I will not presume any further to insult you with my offer, or to dwell on any feelings that may trouble me still. This letter seeks to offer you, rather, an explanation for my actions, since I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain in ignorance of the motives I have that have guided my actions towards both your sister, and Mr Wickham, so that you can judge me in fullness, rather than from the incomplete portrait of my character that you have formed from the sliver of the varied interactions that we have shared. I trust that your keen sense of justice will allow you to overlook my perceived offences for the duration of the letter, though I dare not and do not hope for more. Be assured that I am not a gentleman who pursues a suit where it is unwelcome, and I assure that I will not renew my addresses, no matter my feelings.  
The first of the charges you laid before me was that I had ruined the happiness of your most beloved sister Jane. To address this charge, let me first set aside your basis, for the happiness of your sister is for her and her alone to attain. No outside agency could or should be blamed for that lady’s attainment to that state. I know many a married person who is miserable, and many an unmarried one who is content with their state. Were we in better state with one another, it would be a fascinating discussion, to unpack the meaning, truly, of being happy, and the factors that lead one to that state, but you will cease reading this letter if I trespass too much, and I will set this aside. You mean, I apprehend, that I have interfered in the match that was forming between my good friend Charles Bingley and your sister. 

I have known Charles for over ten years, and have watched him grow from a young man a trifle spoilt by indulgent parents of means, with all the usual virtues and vices of a young man of that status, good at horse, and not so good at cards, an admirer of young ladies but only in a most appropriate manner, and never singling any one of them out, and an most admirable studying companion at college, without any particular inclination towards any particular discipline. That gentleman, well might you have laid a charge at my door that I had directed his attentions away from your sister, as he was very inclined to rely on his friends, and chiefly on me, to determine whether his path was the right one to choose, at any critical juncture, and I was only too happy to fulfil that role, having no younger brother of my own, and at that stage only a schoolroom miss for a younger sister. That gentleman was carefree and filled with an inner light, an optimism that no matter what circumstance arose, he, or I, or at last resort, his parents, would be able to weather the storm and be unaffected. But, as I said, that was the past.

The Mr Bingley of today is a much more sober gentleman, and much more inclined to take his own counsel, which has proved so far to be exceedingly sound, so far as I am in a position to judge it, being a man essentially of the country, for all my university training, and not a man of the business of trade and town, of the kind that Mr Bingley has had to become, on the death of first his mother, and then his father, not more than two years ago now. Charles stepped directly into that path, and has withstood the pressures of the role in a manner that his father never dreamt he would have had to, before the dreadful ‘virus brought us all low. Had he not been the man fit for the role, I dare say England would have been much the worse for it, so pivotal are the masks, and soap production, that his mills and factories produce to the combat of the scourge. He has kept his workers safe, and productive, in a way that others have failed to do, by the procedures he has put in place, and the wages he has offered them, and I am very proud to be his friend. I cannot in good conscience take any credit for the fine work that he has performed. While he may have consulted with me about the actions he took, and observed our estate and tenant farmers at Pemberley, his decisions are entirely his own, and the credit for them must be also. So too, I cannot take either credit or blame for his actions in the field of relationships. As you well know, I am no expert in the amatory arts, and the only lady to whom I have ever made an offer of marriage turned me down. I have no credentials to bolster my views on the suitability of a partner in life, only my convictions. I will not hide from you that I shared with him my concerns that your sister did not seem to be as engaged in her feelings for him, as he was for her, and the pain that such a relationship might cause. I will not dwell on how I might have formed my knowledge of those pains, but I will share that it has been my observation that in the midst of this current catastrophe, feelings are rather intensified, and persons wishing to marry seem to do so with an eye towards speed, given the uncertainty of the future, as indeed did your sister and your cousin. Your sister did not seem to take any particular pains to seek out my friend, before her visit to London, but I will by necessity concede your superior knowledge of your sister’s innermost feelings, and apologise for misjudging her in those. I do not apologise for any observations I may have made to him concerning your family, excepting, of course, your excellent self, and Miss Bennett. I will not insult you again by recounting my remarks, but the behaviour of your mother, your father, and your younger sisters in Meryton was reason enough to give rise to concern that regardless of Miss Bennett’s own feelings, she, and my friend, might be very well placed in a position of compromise, of the kind engineered by social matrons in the ton, for the marital and other advantages it would avail your family in these desperate times. I am well aware that none of us stand without motes in our own eyes, but Charles is often blind to such issues, despite the unkind gossip of his sisters, and the examples of some of our set in town. 

However, I do not consider that Mr Bingley’s feelings have much to do with my observations, one way or another. The Charles that I know now is one who is captain of his own soul. If he loves your sister, truly, nothing I say will stand in the way of him making her an offer. As I understand it, in this second wave, he has been run quite ragged, from pillar to post on business with the mills, to secure the cotton, engage with those families of his employees currently affected and without means, to establish experimental mills utilising new methods of automation, to spare live flesh and blood, and I doubt very much that he has had ten minutes of his own in the last two months, as I saw him for less than five minutes while we were both in London, and I spent exactly none of those on the topic of any of the Bennetts. If I know him as well as I fancy myself to do, I would guess that if he had those ten minutes to himself, I would wager that if in love with your sister, as I am with you, he would have spent those minutes thinking of her. 

To the second of your charges, that of the fortunes of Mr Wickham. Here, I must lay before you all of my family information, and I ask that you tread sensitively here, as the information pertains not only to myself, but to my young sister, Georgiana. She would mislike me describing her as young, but she is only slightly older than your youngest sister in Lydia, and as in need of guidance as any other young woman of not yet sixteen, as she was at the unhappy time of which I must speak. For corroboration of this information, if you seek it, you may appeal to her other guardian, Colonel FitzWilliam, but we have judged it best not to allow the information wider distribution either within our own family, nor in the public, for Georgiana’s sake. 

I do not know what information Mr Wickham has given you, so I cannot refute or confirm any particular, but must give you the entirety of what I hold (and here the gentleman had written and struck out ‘as I long to do with my life’, although she read it with the aid of a candle held behind). 

Mr Wickham was the son of my late father’s steward, and had in that role the freedom of the estate. He had such charming manners, even as a young boy, that my father considered him a suitable companion for me, and many opportunities that I was afforded were extended to him as well. Together, we learnt to ride, to shoot, to fish, and even to dance. He was ever graceful, and courteous to my father, and basked in the attention. Amongst my faults, as you know, are those of pride, and I was less master of it then than I am now. I concede that to be forever second in those arts, in my father’s eyes, did indeed rankle, a burr ‘neath the saddle cloth. I was unable to conceal my emotions, and we were not bosom friends, but rivals for my father’s attentions. I did not stoop to sabotage, and allowed him his time in the sun, and the two became very attached. At about the same time, our schooling became more serious, as well it ought, and our pastimes grew to encompass all the disciplines of study that a tutor could afford. I say ‘our pastimes’, but it became only too apparent that Mr Wickham was not inclined to either study or discipline, having no natural propensity to consume learning as I must boast that I did, returning me to favour in my father’s eyes. I dislike boasting in this manner, but it is relevant to our next development. Our tutor was a man easily swayed by charm, and easily persuaded, and Mr Wickham took advantage of that, I do not know in quite what manner, but the outcome was a favourable report on both of us to my father, which resulted in both of us being accepted to study at Cambridge, I for the law, as my father judged it most useful for my future role in assuming his mantle at Pemberley, and he for the divinities, for reasons I confess I do not entirely understand, as it was clear to me from the way in which Mr Wickham had heretofore comported himself with the young women at Lambton, and the cardtables of the inns, that he was not a man fit for the cloth. 

It was at Cambridge that I met Mr Bingley, and formed a solid friendship on which I have come to rely. He is a man of great kindness, and firm morals, and conveys a feeling of goodwill to all that he meets. Mr Wickham, on the other hand, made companions of the worst kind in the inns surrounding the colleges, and spent more time in those than he ever did in lecture or study. Long after I and Mr Bingley had donned our graduation robes, Mr Wickham had not achieved sufficient credits to leave the college with even a first year complete, and so it was that when my esteemed father passed on, he left Mr Wickham a legacy of £1000 per annum, and a promise of a valuable living, should he complete his degree and take orders.

I visited Cambridge to convey this news to Mr Wickham. He was not to be found in his rooms, and it was after some searching that I discovered he had given these up, and was no longer enrolled. He was instead in the lodgings of a nearby inn, as the guest of the matron who ran the establishment, and I will not redden your maiden ears with more details. Suffice it to say that it was very clear to me that even if he had at one time actually been interested in taking orders, this was no longer his intent. Once he was sober, I therefore offered him a lump sum of £3,000 to give up any claim to his legacy, and the promised living, and he declared that he would use the sum to study, as I had done, the discipline of law. I persuaded him that he would not find it to his taste, and suggested that he should use at least some of that sum to purchase a commission. 

We then lost touch, and I know not much of how his military career proceeded, if at all, nor did I care to enquire, being full of responsibilities myself, assuming the role of master of Pemberley and caring for the hardworking tenant farmers, and not least, seeking to assume the role of protector and co-guardian of my young sister Georgiana, who had lost her mother at birth, and now had also lost her father, and had only myself and my rough and ready cousin the Colonel to look to for parental affection. He presented himself a number of times over the next five years to seek supplemental sums to augment his earnings and I did not press him, but paid out at least another £5,000 over that period. Finally, he confessed a year ago that he had not taken a commission at all, but spent his life as a dandelion, tumbling from opportunity to indulgence as the wind took him, and sought one final sum, with which he promised he would in fact buy a commission, and leave me and Pemberley entirely alone. In the presence of the Colonel, and the Lambton vicar, I gave him one last lump sum of £1,000 pounds, and had him sign a declaration that he had no further claim on the Pemberley estate. 

Would that had been the last of it! For once the ‘virus hit our English shores, Mr Wickham once more presented himself to the estate, seeking shelter. He was afforded shelter for a month, in one of the groundskeeper’ cottages, within eyesight of Pemberley house, and during that time and during visits to the house, ingratiated himself with my young sister Georgiana. She was then but fifteen. It was my failing, I confess, to have left her without meaningful occupation during that first wave, and no excuse to say that I was very pressed myself, to ensure that our tenants were provisioned and protected during that time, and spent most of my time in that house, during that period, asleep on my feet. Georgiana had been very protected, both under my father’s care and my own, and consequently knew little of young men and their promises. I had foolishly assumed that Mr Wickham possessed some scruples, and would not take advantage of kindness. I beg that you not make the same mistake. 

The first I apprehended any danger was the moment I discovered Georgiana missing from the estate, at a time when she was wont to practice on her pianoforte and set the scales ringing throughout the house, followed by the realisation that together with her was missing my phaeton and a horse. I did not know, but suspected immediately, Mr Wickham, and first inspected Lambton, and then Kympton, where I found first phaeton, and then my sister, sitting together in the common rooms of an inn, without mask, or glove and entirely exposed to ‘virus and public censure. She confessed immediately that Mr Wickham was upstairs, making ready their rooms, as they were to be married, and that they loved each other very much. I quickly gave her reason to understand his true motives, that of her fortunes rather than her affection, and with some little tears, though great fortitude, and injured angry pride, she assented to be removed from the inn and Mr Wickham, and I set her in safety in my carriage myself, after first sanitising her hands, and returning to her arms and face her proper protective garments. I do not wish to dwell long on the scene that resulted when Mr Wickham returned to the common rooms, but I did, indeed, tell him that he was no longer welcome at any grounds of Pemberley, or indeed, if I could help it, anywhere in Derbyshire. I also cautioned him, remembering my legal studies, that I had ample grounds to bring actions against him, and would have no scruples in doing so in the future should he give any further cause. I will be guided by you as to whether it is necessary at this times to consider if I have actionable grounds for slander, as I have not seen, nor do I wish to see, Mr Wickham myself since that time. Because of his actions, my sister was exposed not only to potential public censure, but also to the ‘virus. Although we immediately isolated, it was too late for her, and as a result for me, and for the servants at Pemberley who insisted, despite my pleas for their own safety, on caring for us. We were most fortunate indeed that no one died, and that at that stage, the ‘virus treated us lightly. Today, this may not be the case. 

This is a true and faithful account of my dealings with Mr Wickham, and I hope that it is sufficient that you will acquit me of the charge of lack of humanity and compassion towards him. At every turn, I have taken great pains to treat him as one of my station should. I cannot defend myself against any slander he has made public without touching my sister’s honour, and I leave in your hands the only defence I can make. 

I do not wish to conclude my letter, and perhaps my last communication with you, by retreading any grounds that are displeasing to you, but please let me assure you that if this bout of the ‘virus proves victorious and I succumb, my last wishes will be for your health and happiness.

FITZWILLIAM DARCY


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much time in isolation is not good for the soul, not at least when it is troubled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's not been a great one for the 'virus numbers in Victoria, and NSW, and it's a little reflected in this week's chapter. I trust by next week, the numbers, and the plot, shall be more pleasing.

It is surprising how many different forms of occupation can be found when one is trying to avoid thought. The pigs, by the end of the first week of isolation, were so clean that they no longer oinked, they squeaked. All the socks were darned, and all the hedges trimmed. Mary and Mr Collins spent a great deal of time preparing sermons, or at least, in solitude, leaving Elizabeth to fend for herself. Fend she did, with a will, and yet she found herself often staring blankly into space, which confused the pigs, and mystified the bees. 

Mary, mercifully, required no more of her in way of conversation, than a polite nod of acquiescence, for Elizabeth feared she would not have made a great deal of sense at any point in those two weeks. She continued, at moments, to feel the rage burn hotter than any stove, for no one, no one besides her, should feel themselves entitled to criticise her sisters, her father and most definitely not her   
mother! How could someone in a position such as his feel the weight that must press on a gentleman’s family of little means, and little prospects? As much as her mother’s eagerness to have them all safely wed chafed her keenly, it was a matter for sympathy, and not amusement. How very dare he! She had never asked for his regard, nor sought his proposal, so poorly given, and it was not for him to express to her his feelings on her family. Not even Mr Collins, in his misconceived attempts at charm on first acquaintance had misjudged his proposal in such a manner. What would it be like to be married to such a man, in any case! Would he be forever casting his superiority of birth and family before her in such a manner? At the breakfast table, in between lightly buttered pieces of no doubt superior toast? In the nursery, as they admired their superior children, would he chastise her for a Bennett chin, rather than a Darcy dimple? It would be simply unsupportable. 

Then, at other moments, as she crossed the threshold of the house, she saw his face again, white and drawn with fever, and still striving to wish her well, his mask crumpled in his hand, and the dimples erased! She did not hate him in those moments. There was a sensation of deep unease, and a desire to know that he was well once more, that the dimples would return, even if he felt she was unworthy of them. He deserved to have the dimples, even without her. The ‘virus could not take those from him, surely. More than a few, not angry, tears, were shed at the prospect that perhaps they would.   
The second week passed in monotony, much as the first had done. Parishioners came, and left offerings at the gate for collection, baskets of wild garlic, and some early berries, and bunches of wildflowers although the latter were not as welcome as the former in Elizabeth’s eyes, Mr Collins fell on them with a will. She made herself an even smaller posy of violets for her room, from those that had been included in the bunch, and fancied herself lucky to have them, although their scent was soon lost.

She thought, in those days, of the bluebell woods, and the trout stream, and the way in which the sunlight had hit his white shirt, and she wondered whether the fever had taken him, but in isolation, there was no way of knowing, and no proper way of asking for news to be sent, for no parishioner volunteered the information by way of a script with a donation, and she could not bring herself to speak of it to either Collins, for want of a suitable explanation, so she did not ask. The Collins were not available, in the main, for discussion in any case. 

Mr Collins’ library was very small, and inclined a little too much, understandably, to theology. The few novels that were there were gothic in their nature, which she did not care for, and besides, she had already read them. She did not find it distracting. 

She scrubbed the laundry and the bathroom with a will, wondering all the while whether someone as elevated as Mr Darcy had ever performed such a task, or would consider it a suitable one for a prospective bride. Somehow, she suspected not. She amused herself by imagining Caroline Bingley, complete with peacock feather, so engaged, and then sobered again, thinking of Jane, and her disappointed hopes. 

The house could not contain her long, and although beyond the garden gates was denied to her, within was allowed. She tended to the Collins’ potage garden with such vehemence that she had weeded it, in its entirety, and brought the stray mangetouts to check, within the course of a day. It would not do. She longed to be free. She longed to speak to someone who was not a Collins, as kind and ridiculous as they both were. She wanted the novelty of a sight that she had not seen a hundred times over. She wanted to be gone.

By the end of that second week, the violets had wilted, and she had her bag packed by the door. Mary looked somewhat relieved herself, as she handed her sister into the carriage. “William, do tell Mr Bennett that Kitty appears most happy with Lady Catherine, and that I did solicit her to return, but as usual, she would have her way.”

“Do you mean Kitty, or Lady Catherine, my dear?” 

“Oh, both. They deserve each other. Do not tell my father I said that, though.”

Elizabeth laughed, but stopped when her sister bade her turn around, so that she could farewell Mr Collins appropriately. Which took some little time. Ahem. Finally, when Elizabeth could bear to wait no longer, she politely coughed, which caused the couple to turn around with concern, and Mr Collins finally to don his mask, board the carriage, and the trip was underway.

Mr Collins was not an accomplished driver, and the horse required much attention, which was fortunate, for Elizabeth had much to consider as they left the bluebell woods behind. She had not considered, but now it seemed most pressing, the situation of Mr Wickham. It was abundantly clear that throughout his acquaintance with the Bennetts, and likely with the regiment, Mr Wickham had worn a mask other than that prescribed by regulation. Should she reveal it? 

On the one hand, he could prove to be as much a scourge on the face of Meryton as the ‘virus had been. Mr Darcy had disclosed much of concern. Firstly, his own sister, of an age with Lydia, and an attempted elopement! Surely, none of the Bennett sisters had much to fear there, truly, for none were an heiress to the Darcy fortunes, nor ever like to be worth near such amount. Would he find any of the other young ladies of Meryton such a target? Charlotte, her good friend, was the daughter to a knight, true, but their estate was scarcely larger than Longbourn, and therefore unlikely to be at risk. There were no other estates with young unmarried daughters to be concerned for. Secondly, however, Mr Darcy had hinted at intrigues with the daughters of the villages about Pemberley, and Cambridge, and goodness knows where else. That Mr Wickham had frittered away what seemed to Elizabeth a fortune, and, reading between the lines of Mr Darcy’s letter, amassed debts of large amounts. Should she make this known to Meryton? 

But how could it be done without tainting Miss Darcy’s honour? It was a puzzle indeed, and it took her to the changing post worrying over it, with no answer forthcoming. Mr Collins, between managing the horse and carriage, and his own thoughts, was very occupied himself, and they were at the changing post before either had expected it. 

Also, of surprise to at least Mr Collins, but less so to Elizabeth, knowing her sisters’ dispositions, was the fact that Mr Bennett was not at the changing post to meet them, but Jane and Lydia were, each with eyes that twinkled above their masks, and it was with some little effort that Elizabeth did not shed a further tear then and there. 

There was much clamour by Lydia, as Mr Collins transferred Elizabeth’s luggage, as Elizabeth advised her of Kitty’s situation. 

“But I do not see why she should be so favoured to stay at Rosings! I dare say that if Lady Catherine had met me, she would find me much more congenial a companion. Everyone says I am!” This, complete with her best pout, but Mr Collins, now a very happily married man, took no note.

“I dare say, Lydia, that you should not like it, if you were to be so favoured. I cannot imagine that you would find Lady Catherine so congenial. Mr Collins, what say you?”

Mr Collins, thus applied to, was placed in the difficult position of either insulting his sister in law, or his patron, and chose to ignore the question, making a business of settling the bags.

“Besides,” Lydia continued, “Kitty will not have the pleasure of the militia’s company, as I shall. She shall be quite forgot by all her favourites, and they shall all be mine. It will serve her right when she returns, Miss High and Mighty!”

Jane smiled at Elizabeth, with an expression that conveyed that this was not the first time those particular sentiments had been expressed by that young lady, and that Jane had had quite enough, and that it was a good thing that Elizabeth had been freed finally from her quarantine. It was a very expressive look. “Our mother will be quite relieved to have you home, Lizzy. I do not mean any offence, Mr Collins, but when we heard of the further illness in Hunsford, she was quite beset by worry, and the sight of her daughter will do much. I am sure that my parents would both wish me to convey their gratitude for your care, and wish the best to Mrs Collins.”

“Oh! Yes, indeed,” said Mr Collins. “Perhaps when Miss Kitty returns, Miss Lydia and your good self may come to visit. I am certain Mrs Collins would be very happy to see you both once more. It has been a most pleasant thing to have a house full of family. Have I said that correctly? It is not something I am used to, but most agreeable all the same. And now, I must take my leave, if I am to be at Hunsford before dinner, and you must take your leave if you are to be in Longbourn before nightfall.”

Lydia giggled. “La, sir, we all know why you wish to be at Hunsford! No, I wish my sister well. Jane, stop poking me, they are married folk now. There is nothing improper about it.”

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged more, expressive, horrified looks, and bundled their younger sister physically into the carriage, with admonitions to bite her tongue, or they would tell papa, and in the meantime, Mr Collins beat a hasty retreat.

The carriage was a trifle crowded on the road home to Longbourn, and the road seemed extremely long indeed, as Lydia insisted on rehearsing all the local gossip, largely revolving around the militia and then that revolving largely around the exploits of Denny and Wickham, and then, if one listened closely, largely around Wickham and how daring and dashing he was, simply all of the time. He had orchestrated a horserace about Meryton, which he had, of course won, this carried on despite a light spring rain, and then she had insisted that he lift her before him on the saddle and take her for a ride as well, and he had, and had ridden ever so fast, even with that handicap that she declared he could have won that way, and then, Lizzie, they had ridden the race again, and of course he had! 

Wickham’s feats, with the long view of distance, and a dash more objectivity than her first impressions of him had allowed, appeared to Elizabeth more foolish and likely to cause others damage than himself, rather than impressive and brave. She could not confer with Jane, who was holding the reins, and giving it her full attention, even as they drew close to Longbourn and more familiar roads, the sight of which gladdened Elizabeth’s heart, but she determined that she would the first a proper instant presented itself.

That did not happen until much later that evening. Elizabeth had never fancied herself a favourite of her mother, not when she had Jane, and Lydia as such supreme examples of either end of the spectrum of feminine behaviour, but it appeared that her mother was determined to demonstrate that she cared just as much for Elizabeth as any of her other daughters, if not more, especially since her time away had involved a further brush with the ‘virus, and earnt another sister the favour of Lady Catherine, and there was much buttered toast for tea, and, tears shed, by all. 

That night, as Elizabeth sank gratefully into a bed all her own, with every lump and dip known and cherished, and walls that were not a vibrant purple, she did seek to converse with Jane, both on the subject of Mr Bingley, and to seek the benefit of Jane’s advice. However, as Jane was half asleep, none was forthcoming. She would have to reach her own conclusions, and act accordingly.


	28. Chapter 28: at Longbourn once more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elizabeth is hangry, angry, and once more, wrong.

There is nothing quite as sweet as waking in one’s own time, unburdened by fixed commitments, thought Elizabeth as she made her way up to the surface of her consciousness. The noises of Longbourn, mused Elizabeth, pulling up her coverlet in the drowsy contentment that one no longer burdened by a need to collect eggs or feed pigs can enjoy as their youngest sister must be performing that task, were entirely different to those of Hunsford. The floorboards creaked differently, the birds sang more sweetly, and the horses outside whickered in a different manner. Although there should not be horses outside. Why was there a horse outside? 

She hissed Jane awake, and twitched aside the curtains.

A splendid brown horse, and a finely turned out gentleman, who she could not make out from above, with a blue mask obscuring his features, astride it. Curiouser, and curiouser, she mused, but Jane gasped.

“It is Mr Bingley! But whatever is he doing here, Elizabeth? I have not seen him since before you left for Hunsford. I did not think he was returning to Netherfield. I cannot imagine what he is doing here,” she said, breathless.

“Can you not, Jane?” said Elizabeth, twitching the heavy curtains closed once more. Elizabeth certainly could imagine a whole range of things, but she expected that sharing them with Jane would not provoke her into action of the kind that was needful. “Get dressed, my dear sister. Quickly! That light pink muslin, I think?”

The sisters did, indeed, make a quick business of it, and lightfoot stepped down the stairs, donning their masks as they went, to find their papa conversing with the gentleman out a window. It was, indeed, Mr Bingley.

“Jane, my dear,” said Mr Bennett, adjusting his dressing gown. “I understand that Mr Bingley has a question he would like to put to you. Elizabeth, please go and put the kettle on.”

Jane cast a perplexed look on her father, and Elizabeth, with fond exasperation, gently pushed her towards the window. Above her mask, her eyes twinkled. “Good morning,” Elizabeth said to Mr Bingley as she left the room. “I have heard that the early bird catches the worm, but never seen one so well dressed!”

She heard Mr Bennett’s chuckle as she left, and that would needs tide her over, as she addressed the chores that Lydia had not. Shortly afterwards, she heard the horse depart, and judged it appropriate to return, and hear whatever news there was to give. On entering the drawing room, she saw her father, seated with a yellow paperback, and her sister still by the window, looking vaguely stunned, and still watching the drive as if Mr Bingley remained. Which he did not.

“Jane, is Mr Bingley well? Why did he not come in?” asked Elizabeth, holding Jane’s hands. 

Mr Bennett snorted from his paperback. “You did not used to be this circumspect, Elizabeth. He is sensible of the health risk, having just returned from a county with many more cases, and does not wish to contaminate Longbourn, or its residents, and returns to Netherfield to isolate. Ask a better question.”

Elizabeth looked her sister in the eye, and she nodded, vehemently.   
“Lizzie, we are to be wed! I am the happiest Bennett alive! I thought I had no reason to hope, but it seems that throughout his many busy trips, he kept me in his thoughts, as he has been in mine. With the numbers increasing in some parts of some counties, he did not wish to go on uncertain of my affections, and we are to be wed before Midsummer. I must go and tell our mother – she will be so very pleased!”

Elizabeth looked to her father, who also nodded. “Run along, my dear. I dare say she will be insufferable for the rest of the day. Two daughters married! I can hear her voice in my head even now. Perhaps I shall take a walk.”

Elizabeth shook her head at him, as Jane ran up the stairs, and as predicted, seconds later there were peals of laughter, and loud exclamations from that part of the house. Mr Bennett looked over his glasses at Elizabeth. 

“I do beseech you, if you ever find yourself in a situation where a young gentleman wishes to ask a particular question, consider my nerves, and not those of your mother, in how you break the news, eh?”

Elizabeth laughed, but it did not ring true. “I dare say that will be a good while off, father. I give you leave to beat a retreat, but the kitchen has hot tea and buttered toast.”

Lydia, when she came in from the pigs and chickens, was so excited that she broke an egg, and immediately ran to her ribbon box to select precisely the right one for the momentous occasion. “You must wear a blue Bingley mask, of course, so the ribbon needs to be a serene pink. Not a strong pink, that would not do. Mama, if ever I am married, what would look best with a redcoat? I dare say Mr Bingley will look perfectly splendid, even if he is not wearing regimentals. He shall be my favourite brother in law, and I shall come and stay with you and then Kitty will be ever so jealous, for Mr Bingley gives balls, and Lady Catherine merely drinks tea.”

Jane laughed. “You shall stay with us, of course. But you should not speak ill of Kitty, or Lady Catherine, when neither are present to defend themselves. Oh, Lydia, I am so happy!”

Lydia did an impromptu jig. “Do say that I may have a new dress, Mama? It would not be well for us to look shabby at Jane’s wedding. We must all have new dresses!”

Mrs Bennett giggled girlishly. “Oh Lydia, you may have a new dress if you choose. We shall all have new dresses and bonnets besides, for I knew Jane could not be so pretty for nothing! Very well done, Jane, well done indeed!”

Elizabeth could not help but mulishly turn over in her head that Jane had not actually done anything, beyond being herself, and she could hardly help that, and that congratulations should be saved for those who strived. However, she felt that it would smack of sour grapes to actually say such a thing, and with a kiss to her sister, and a press of her mother’s hand, she retreated to the kitchen, her father, and the buttered toast, in the hope that such would improve her mood.

Over the next two weeks, as they all waited impatiently for Mr Bingley’s self imposed isolation to be over, the drawing room at Longbourn often felt wallpapered with bright red, as the militia seemed to take tea with the Bennetts at least once a day, which was one time more than Elizabeth would like. She endeavoured to busy herself with serving of tea, and being the person who would cook the scones and crumpets, and slice the cake and butter the toast, and do all the things that very much remained in the kitchen, but like a snail from her shell, Mrs Bennett would winkle her out each time, and insist that she return to the parlour, no doubt with the intent of offloading a further daughter to a military spouse, as there were many single men of the militia under Colonel Foster’s command, and Elizabeth no longer need marry to keep Longbourn in the family, or marry well to provide for her sisters, as both those requirements had been satisfied. 

There, she could have been happy if only she had been the Elizabeth of two months ago, free and unburdened of knowledge, and willing to overlook the fact that young men of this regiment of the militia had issues putting more than one syllable into a word because of the breadth of their shoulders, or the way in which they rode a horse or took to the dancefloor. In short, Mr Wickham’s eyes twinkled just as merrily over his mask as they had before, but somehow Elizabeth’s stomach remained unmoved, and unfluttered. It did make conversing with him a good deal easier, under the circumstances, but she was disturbed to see how many in the drawing room remained, as it were, fluttered, chief of which was her own youngest sister, Lydia. And yet, there was nothing that she could do, without exposing Mr Darcy’s own youngest sister, to warn her sister, other than in the most oblique manner. Lydia had never been one for subtlety and she did not like her chances.

Before she reached her sister, however, she was intercepted by Mr Wickham, who had a cup of tea, and therefore could not be fetched one as a means of escape. “Ah, Miss Eliza! We have not had an opportunity for a conversation such as we had enjoyed in the frosty winter!”

“Mr Wickham,” she said. “It has indeed been quite a season. I trust that your time has been well spent.”

Mr Wickham bowed, narrowly missing a minor catastrophe with his tea. “I have spent my time most enjoyably. Not least of which is due to the kind hospitality of the Bennett family. You have been missed, however.” Here, his eyes twinkled again.

“I must say, it is most pleasant to be within the confines of my own family once more, educative as my stay at Hunsford proved to be,” she said, looking at her mother, patting Jane’s glove fondly.

“Ah yes, indeed. You would have met the esteemed Lady Catherine de B, or old lady Tightwad, as I think of her. She is just as imperious as her nephew, I always think. I dare say she has not changed,” said Mr Wickham, affecting the air of someone much put upon. 

Elizabeth took a moment to regain composure, turning the cup in its saucer until the handle was neatly aligned. “I dare say she has not. I found her most interesting. Mr Darcy and his cousin, the Colonel were both there also.”

“Ah,” said Mr Wickham, surprised. At least Elizabeth supposed it to be surprise. “I cannot suppose that you found him much different to how he carried himself about Meryton. I still cannot fathom how we came to fall out. And how he came to turn me out in such a manner, when his father loved me so, and left such express wishes.” And here, the blue eyes were turned upon Elizabeth for the sympathy that was his due.

Elizabeth looked across the room to her mother, and Jane, once again. “Can you not? I certainly could not believe him to be quite the same man I met in Meryton, that much is true. But still, let us not dwell on things of the past, on which my thoughts can be but mere speculation. Lady Catherine was much grieved by the loss of her daughter, and it was refreshing to see the support her nephews provided.”

“Yes,” said Mr Wickham. “It is all water, as they say, under the bridge. I should not complain of my lot when countless others have lost their lives to this merciless scourge. And it is pleasing to hear that Mr Darcy can fulfil that least of his familial duties.”

Elizabeth set her cup more firmly in its saucer. It was white as Mr Darcy’s face had been, when last she saw it, and to allow this to continue was insupportable. “Mr Wickham,” she said equally firmly. “I do not think it proper for you to be speaking to me in this manner. If you have a matter to address with Mr Darcy, you must take it up with him directly. I am neither his agent, nor your confidante.” She paused. “Let us speak of something more pleasant. Lydia mentioned that the regiment might be fortunate enough to take some of the summer by the sea, the better to repel the French, should the pandemic have abated sufficiently in that nation for them to mount their planned invasion once more. Shall you like Brighton, do you think, Mr Wickham?”

Before that gentleman, who had changed colour several times over as she spoke, could speak, Lydia careened across the crowded drawing room, apparently blessed with hearing to rival that of any barn owl. “I will not hear of it, Lizzie! The militia are not to go to Brighton, and that is final! Do you hear me George! It will be too dull here without you, and it is not fair that Kitty should be at Rosings Park, and Jane to be wed, and Mary with a house and husband of her own, and here am I, stuck in Meryton with no amusement at all!”

Elizabeth would have brought up her bosom companions of the town, and that she herself would be remaining in Meryton, and perfectly capable of supplying Lydia with infinite amusement, and finally that Lydia was not yet of an age to venture forth into the world alone, nor to be seeking husbands, truly, but she felt that the drawing room was a little crowded, and Lydia might not absorb the lesson she wished to impart, should she choose to deliver it by shouting at her in front of the entire redcoat contingent of Meryton. 

So she forebore to do so, and listened patiently while Mr Wickham reassured Lydia, in tones that spoke of long practice, that she should find amusement enough, and that no doubt the militia would return anon. As if, Elizabeth mused, an elder brother was reassuring his younger sister of his safe return. Perhaps she had, once again, formed an ill impression, and Mr Wickham did have redeeming features after all. Perhaps he had reformed himself, in the period since he had behaved so badly towards the Darcy family, and found grace in his military service. She scoffed at herself internally, as Lydia and Mr Wickham continued to converse. A leopard did not change his spots, no matter how well intentioned the keeper. She was not a girl of fifteen to will herself into believing something to be true, just because she wished it to be that way. No, Mr Wickham was not to be trusted.

As if he sensed her internal approbation, Mr Wickham gave her an exceedingly sweet smile, as if to convey that he would much rather be still conversing with her alone, and were she the maiden of two months prior, she might have been tempted to believe that true also. As it was, she finished her tea, and replaced her mask, and made her excuses, by dint of needing to collect all the teacups, and wash them to minimise cross contamination, and left Mr Wickham talking intently at Lydia, who was still seeking reassurance that she should not be forgot, even if the young ladies of Brighton were ever so appealing. She was no heiress to be at risk, nor could any true mischief befall her in the midst of her mother’s drawing room. It was safe enough.


	29. Chapter 29: in which plans change

“Papa,” said Lydia sternly. “You must let me. I am closer to sixteen now than fifteen, and ever so sensible. I shall be hardly a burden at all to the Fosters, if you let me go, because I have been very useful here to the household upkeep, have I not, mama, and now Hill is back I am not so needed, and Kitty has been at Rosings Park for any number of months, and Mary married, and Jane engaged, and I do not wish to end an old spinster like Lizzy. Brighton will have all sorts of eligible young lieutenants, and majors and possibly even colonels, and I shall never meet them if I stay here in Meryton. And how am I to marry them if I never meet them? You must know my heart is set on marrying a redcoat. Tell him, mama!”

Jane’s hand, now adorned by a simple sapphire ring, wonderfully matching the Bingley mask of blue she now wore also, pressed Elizabeth’s hand under cover of the breakfast table. There had been ample opportunity, the isolation period being up, for Mr Bingley to make many such tokens of affection Jane’s own, and he had not been shy in doing so, for all that he and his fiancée had been shy with each other before his windowside proposal. Elizabeth suppressed a mild inclination to laugh, and reached instead with her other hand for another piece of toast, and began to butter it. If she was to be pitied for her single and lonely state, such as it was, and her a maiden of not even one and twenty, then at least she should be a well fed one. Besides, her father was very unlikely to concede to Lydia’s wishes, not at least before Jane was wed and settled, and still unlikely afterwards. She would have time to gently nudge Lydia towards a path of proper behaviour, whereby she could still marry a redcoat, if she so chose, but with slightly more decorum, especially after Jane departed for Netherfield. It would be a challenge, to be sure, but she had hope that underneath her light spirited manner, Lydia had more than a kernel or two of common sense. She was determined not to be fooled by exterior appearances again, and of all silly appearing young ladies in the world, she should have a better opinion of her own sister. 

Elizabeth allowed herself to finish her toast, and an egg, and a cup of tea before she resumed paying any kind of attention to the rest of the breakfast table. It did not appear that she had missed a great deal, as her youngest sister was still lamenting her lot, her mother was still loudly protesting that she should have liked to, had she not had the good fortune to meet the most amiable gentleman in the world, and here blowing a kiss to Mr Bennett at the end of the table, marry a redcoat herself, and she quite understood, and Jane and Mr Bennett were reading over the freshly sterilised mail and newspapers from the town, and pretending not to hear. 

“Elizabeth,” Jane said quietly. “Mr Bingley might like a visit before the day becomes too warm. Do you think we might take our leave?”

“Quite,” said Elizabeth. “Papa, best of luck.”

The sisters now took a well trodden path between the two estates, skirting the roads, and the eyes of the militia, cross field and over solid fences and stone walls, and to neither’s surprise, Mr Bingley was to be found at the midpoint.

However, Mr Bingley did not look altogether as happy as one might have expected to be reunited once more with a fiancée to whom he would be wed in little over than a month. No, Mr Bingley looked, although attractively flushed with good health and vitality, troubled. 

“My dear, I am afraid you will not be happy with me when you hear what I have to tell you,” said Mr Bingley, clasping Jane’s hands in his own.

“Oh, are your sisters coming for the wedding? Their busy schedule allows it?” asked Elizabeth. “What a delight that will be.”

“Lizzie,” said Jane reproachfully, but Mr Bingley laughed. 

“Worse, I am afraid. There has been another surge of the ‘virus up north. Too much sunshine causes people to lose some of their reason, and to leave off masks, gloves, and, well,” and here he squeezed Jane’s hand warmly. “Let us say that social distancing was not even pretended. I must return to the mills.”

Elizabeth gasped. She felt that someone had to.

Jane looked down at their joined hands, and swallowed, hard. “And our wedding?”

“I think I should be returned, and through isolation before Michelmas. I hate to ask it of you, but can you be patient just a little longer?”

Elizabeth felt that at this point, the nearest stone wall was exceedingly interesting. Someone ought to inspect it much more thoroughly than she had when they climbed it moments before. Indeed, there might be structural defects. Or a new species of lichen. She discovered a plethora of new and interesting natural features of the landscape before Jane cleared her throat, politely.

“Any other news, Mr Bingley,” asked Elizabeth, noting that the gentleman looked slightly more rumpled than previously. “Was Mr Darcy quite recovered, when you saw him?”

Mr Bingley looked puzzled, and then concerned. “I did not see him. I have not seen or heard from him in a good many months. Has he been unwell?”

Now it was Elizabeth’s turn for confusion. “He was quite unwell when I saw him in Hunsford, sir. I had thought that you had – never mind. Perhaps he has removed to Pemberley?”

“Perhaps indeed. I shall make a detour. Thank you for your intelligence, Miss Bennett, I am most exceedingly obliged. Jane, Miss Bennett, my apologies to your family.” 

If the gentleman lingered a trifle longer than was customary over Jane’s hand, Jane was certainly not complaining, and Elizabeth would not have told a soul.

Largely because the return journey was filled with an interrogation, the likes of which her sister had not put her through since they were both a good deal younger, and Elizabeth had foolishly sought to eat an entire apple pie in one sitting, the better to conceal her theft from her sisters, and sought to deny it, despite reeking of cinnamon. The interrogation may have been fuelled by the unexpressed disappointment Jane must have felt, but Elizabeth was not game to ask. By the time they returned to Longbourn, Jane had forced Elizabeth to divulge the entirety of what had transpired between herself, and Mr Darcy, although Eliza had managed to retain privacy for Miss Darcy, and had had, accordingly, omitted any mention of Mr Wickham. Likewise, since it appeared irrelevant, she did not mention that she had taxed Mr Darcy with thwarting Mr Bingley’s proposal. Elizabeth was exceedingly conscious that such a recount did not place herself in the strongest light: having, as so it must seem, refused Mr Darcy entirely out of wounded feelings and pride. But it could not be helped. She felt Jane’s disapproval more than anything, for Jane was not one to reproach when reproach was not due.

But by then in any case, they were at the garden gate once more, and the news Jane had to tell was of such import, that the house was in quite an uproar and it was not until after luncheon that the family settled in the drawing room. 

“Michelmas, indeed!” sputtered Mrs Bennett. “Ah well. These rich young gentlemen will have their way, no matter how inconvenient it is for the rest of us, I dare say. But what a shame! It would have been such a lovely wedding, and now he will be gone and perhaps even die, this ‘virus is so evil. And I shall always say it is such a shame.”

“Mama,” said Elizabeth. “Mr Bingley is most unlikely to die. He is doing the country a public good. He is hardly postponing his wedding on a whim, and tell me, what is it that is causing inconvenience to you? If Jane can bear it, then I do not think you should raise an issue. Papa, do you not agree?”

But before Mr Bennett could throw his weight to her, Lydia burst in. “Aye, that is quite right. This is no inconvenience at all, for I think an autumn wedding is just the thing. And besides,” she drew breath and pressed her mother’s hand. “There will be, after all, enough time for me to visit with Mrs Foster in Brighton! Do say yes, papa. I cannot think of one single good reason that you should not.”

Jane sighed. “I do apologise, mama, for any inconvenience that Mr Bingley has caused.” There was a little tear, discreetly shed. “I had hoped,” and another, “that we would be wed a trifle sooner than Michelmas,” and another pause to dab with a kerchief. “But it does not signify. He is doing the right thing, and he shall return, and then, why, we shall be wed, and all shall be well. I think I might have a headache, actually. I shall go lie down, directly. No, Lizzie, I do not need company, thank you. Mama, will it be too late to tell the Gardiners to postpone their trip?”

“Oh, hang it all,” said Mrs Bennett. “Yes, exactly. This is the very inconvenience of which I spoke. Now my brother and his family will be upon us, and the house in dreadful state, and all for nothing. Well, there is nothing for it, I suppose. We shall have to continue as planned, just without the wedding. What a bother.”

Mr Bennett cleared his throat. “I do not suggest you tell your own brother that he is a nuisance, Fanny. And I dare say it will be pleasant enough to see them, but yes, we will have all the fun of a celebration, without the cause. Tis in keeping with the times.”

“Papa,” said Lydia once more. “You could reduce the numbers, just a little, if I went to Brighton? Lizzy and Jane are the Gardiners’ favourites, and I dare say it will not matter to them one hoot whether I am here or not.”

The gentleman sighed. “I shall think on it. Too many things to think on today, Lydia, and it is not even a day for my accounts. You girls do keep me busy, weddings, and militia, and trips, and ribbons, sometimes I do wonder what I was thinking.”

Lydia snorted. “I dare say you weren’t.”

Her elder sisters took her elbows and marched her from the room, whereon Jane decamped for bed and darkness, and Elizabeth deposited her in the distillery, to resume the task of drying the herbs. Then, she went to find her father, hiding in the greenhouse, spraying down his orchids. 

“Papa, I wanted to speak with you about something.” She said, closing the door behind her, and almost immediately stifling in the heat.

“I am listening, my dear. I can do two things at once. Speak, if you will. I can command the spirits from the watery deep, you know,” said Mr Bennett.

“Ah, but do they come when called, papa, that is the test. No, I wanted to speak with you about the watery shallows at Brighton.”

“Have you come to also apply for sea bathing? I do not think Lydia will find it as congenial as she imagines. Also, I do not think that she will enjoy the atmosphere quite as much as she imagines, for here, she is, or fancies herself to be, a big fish, but in a small pond. There, I dare say, there are many pretty young girls, all vying for the chance to throw themselves at some ha-por-nothing of a man. I have a good mind to let her go, just for that experience. But I did not think it was your style. Am I wrong?”

“No, papa,” said Elizabeth. “But I come to ask that you not let Lydia go either. I do not think the experience will teach her quite what you think. I think that in the company of other silly young girls, and silly young men, she will be led on to more and more foolishness, and then, it may be too late to recover her. Her foolishness will affect us all, you know.”

“Us all? Mary is safely wed, a thing I never thought would happen. Jane about to be so. I hardly think Lydia’s capers will impact on Kitty, so ensconced with Lady Catherine that she has not written for over a week. I think it is chiefly yourself that you are concerned for, although I cannot fathom why. It is unlike you to be so concerned by propriety, Lizzie my girl. Your time in the Rosings Park drawing rooms must have been fearfully impressive indeed, if it has stifled your good humour so.”

Elizabeth wished to dash an orchid pot to the ground, but such behaviour would not do. The orchids could not be replaced, and although it would relieve her feelings, it would hardly help her cause. The pots were warm to the touch, although the leaves were not. “Do have a care, Lizzie.” Her father cautioned.

“Have a care? What of the ‘virus risk at Brighton, and your own daughter? Can you trust her, sir, to be vigilant? You cannot even trust me with an orchid, and yet you intend to let her make choices that carry far more risk. Will she be able to keep herself safe?”

“Oh, Lizzie, can any of us truly keep ourselves safe in the manner of which you speak? For all her foolishness, she does have, I think, a sound head on her shoulders, and she will not know it until she is tested. No, I am minded to concede. Colonel Foster has kept the militia tolerably free from contagion, and he seems a sensible kind of man. No,” said Mr Bennett, raising a finger, “I have heard you on the subject, but I am her father, and the decision falls to me, and not you, Lizzie. It is her life, ultimately, and if she wishes to risk it, and I think the risk fair, which I do, then it should be allowed. I will not hear you further on this matter.”

With that, her father firmly turned his back, and began tending to the roots of a hanging orchid, all yellow flowers and brown tongue, as if it laughed at her. 

It was not long after breaking the longed for news to Lydia, who immediately began to pack and repack her bags, that the Gardiners arrived, complete with children moving so rapidly, even in the heat, that it was some little while before Elizabeth could take them inside to wash their hands, and cool them down. Jane had always been better with that kind of thing, but Jane was understandably indisposed.

Over supper, which Jane again sat out, and once the children had been put to bed, the Gardiners heard the whole story again, complete with a dramatic re enactment by Lydia and Mrs Bennett, neither of whom had been present to witness the moment being re enacted and were not therefore burdened by reality. The Gardiners exchanged looks, heavy with marital significance.  
“Jane and Bingley will not be wed until Michelmas, you say?” asked Mr Gardiner. 

“Aye, that is right brother. So vexing, is it not?” said Mrs Bennett.

“I fancy I have a plan,” said her brother. “Jane will need distraction, and fortuitously, we have her favourite nephews and nieces all here in the one place. What if we left them here with you, to occupy her, and we took a little trip our own selves? Perhaps Lizzie might like to join us?”

“To Brighton?” asked the always easily excitable Lydia, prepared to pout her way into the excursion.

“No,” said Mrs Gardiner, “to my home county of Derbyshire. I do call it one of the most pleasant parts of England.”


	30. Chapter 30: an unexpected journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elizabeth opens her eyes to the world outside her county and finds that there is always more to be understood

“Are you quite sure it is safe, brother? Remember that we have all had the dreadful thing, and Lizzie, I am sure, is still weak as a kitten some times, no matter how she carries on as if she is not,” asked Mrs Bennett, not for the first time, and not for the last time, Mr Gardiner reminded her that Derbyshire ran exactly the same risks as their part of the country, Lizzie had traversed the country to Hunsford and kept herself well, and that there was no safety anywhere any more in any case. A very minor trip, during a period where the ‘virus was in a lull, was surely worth a little risk. 

“Are you sure you will not come?” asked Lizzie of Jane, not for the first time, and not for the last time, Jane gently reminded her that she would rather remain at Longbourn, in case her certain gentleman returned to Netherfield, and besides, the little Gardiners would want their aunt Jane, should they not have their mama and papa, and Lydia would not be a trustworthy supervisor of their shenanigans, being more inclined to enter into them. Besides, Jane assured Lizzie, the company of her little cousins would likely be more congenial than that of their parents, which Lizzie had to agree was fair, as her mother was still complaining of the postponement being frightfully inconvenient, and her father complaining that her mother was complaining. 

“Are you sure I cannot come?” was Lydia’s lament, as Mr Bennett had not yet shared with her a determination one way or the other as to Brighton, and in Lydia’s eyes, any trip was better than none. Lydia was reassured by her aunt that on her attaining her majority, and the ‘virus willing, she should accompany them on many such occasions, in the future, as trade would always require it of her uncle. But not now. 

The final trunk was slung aboard, and the horses saddled, and the little ones kissed and farewelled by their parents. Masks were donned, and final farewells made, and as the carriage turned down the drive, Elizabeth noted that Mrs Gardiner was laughing silently into her hand. 

“Oh, my dear. Oh my very dear. Promise me that if ever I importune you in such a manner, you shall give me a calming draught on the instant. I thought we should never leave,” laughed Mrs Gardiner. “I mean, I do love my sister dearly, but there is ever such an air of pandemonium about Longbourn, even before the pandemic. I do beg your pardon Lizzie, but I do not know how it always comes to such a point. There is always some mild catastrophe or other, indeed!” said Mr Gardiner, patting his wife’s hand.

“I can only imagine, uncle, that it has its roots in childhood, in having to continually rescue you from mischief, with my aunt Phillips being too young to assist. Is it not so? I dare say that if Jane had only Lydia to worry about, and only Jane to worry about her, she would have developed much the same,” said Elizabeth.

“Oh, I think that every family has its mischief maker, and an elder sibling worried for them. But she does worry so, when there really is no need. Imagine, if she harnessed that energy. Whole cotton mills could be powered. Parliament could be replaced.” Said Mr Gardiner.

“Yes,” said Mrs Gardiner, “but likely Mr Bennett would miss her. All the same, I do hope you enjoy our little trip, Lizzie. We had planned a much more extensive carriage party, all the way up to the North, and the Lakes district but those regions are closed to us now, given the border controls. We shall content ourselves with the hills and peaks of Derbyshire, and I count myself lucky for it. Whenever in the past we had occasion to travel to the North, it was usually consumed by business entirely, and one cannot roam the rocks and hills at night. Mr Gardiner’s business in Derbyshire, important though it is, is much more confined. We shall have more leisure to see the estates that are open to visits, and more time to see them. I am quite delighted.”

Elizabeth smiled her agreement. “Are you familiar with many of them, aunt?” 

“I should say so,” said Mr Gardiner. “For she grew up there in Lambton.”

“Oh, yes. A dear village. But there are many charming villages in the area. And the estates, I think, are the best in the country. Mr Wickham, who I think has been no stranger to Longbourn, grew up on the Pemberley estate, although I heard that he had turned out a trifle wild. I think it one of the finest in the county. The Darcy family are cousin to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who you visited with. I do believe you met Mr Darcy once with the Netherfield party? If they are not at home, we shall most definitely visit Pemberley, for their woods and streams alone will be much to your liking, to say nothing of the elegance of their house.”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, but could not bring herself to say more. His white drawn face rose once more in her mind, with those pained brown eyes fixed on hers, that would not let go. Now on the road, she could admit, if only silently to herself, that she wanted to at least know that he still lived. Yet, how to ask? Who to ask?

It was a warm day, and growing warmer as they bumbled along the lanes leading out of Meryton, and the familiar woods soon gave way to the fields yellow with wheat, swaying in the gentle breeze, and Mrs Gardiner sneezed. “Tis the one thing I regret about accompanying you at this time of ears, my dear.”

“I cannot say I regret your company for my sake, but I do regret it for yours. Do make sure your mask is as tight as it can be, my dear.” 

“It is nothing,” said that lady. “I shall be well directly we pass the next hill.” 

And she was, for over the hill, not two hours’ carriage ride from the Meryton was an entire county laid fallow, greened only by the weeds that now overran it, brambles, and sundry oat grasses and barley, and thistles, all doing what they willed, with interspersions of poppies, and cornflowers between. The meadows were quite restful on the eyes, a welcome change from the browny gold of the wheats, and there was a beautiful manor house at the top of the rolling downs, elegant and refined. It was a beautiful picture, until Elizabeth gave a moment’s thought to the cause, and noted her aunt’s sombre face. 

“This is the town?” asked her aunt. Her uncle nodded from the front, eyes trained on the road, and his horses, driving them a fraction faster, even in the heat. 

“The whole town?” asked Elizabeth, incredulously.

Her uncle nodded, then shook his head. “There are a few, heartless wretches that they are. The Earl of Mortimer and his folk. The same ones who told the villagers there was nothing to fear, it was simply a common cold, and the sooner they all caught it, the better it would be, while they themselves holed up in their manor house, and sat on their supplies, and took very good care not to suffer any exposure themselves. Told them that if they wanted to be paid their wages, they had to work. If they wanted not to be thrown off the land that they rented, that they had to work and pay their rent. If they wanted to stay on the estate, they had to attend Sunday services. Those who had family to go to, and were able, packed and left, but as for the rest? When the elders died, the young folk had no one to care for them. Those who didn’t die from the ‘virus, didn’t have food to feed themselves. Not an ounce, not an iota, of common decency in that family, not in the elder or younger generation. Yet, I warrant, up in London people bow and give them the time of day. Call them ‘sir’. Treat them as gentlefolk, rather than the monsters that they are. No, Elizabeth, we’ll not be stopping in Everton, not now, not ever, and none of my colleagues will trade with them, not now, not ever.” 

Elizabeth sat back in her seat. The countryside was no less green, no less restful to the eye, but she could not bear to look at it anymore. 

Her aunt patted her on the arm. “We shall soon be through it, and I promise you, that there shall be plenty of reason for me to sneeze over the next break.”

“You shall think me very heartless, I am sure, aunt, but I think I will be very relieved to hear it. And you shall think me very naïve, I am sure, uncle, but why did not the Crown intervene? Please tell me that this is an outlier? Surely there cannot be many such blots on the landscape? Surely someone – “

“Would someone have stopped them? Would someone have dared? The militia is dispersed hither and yon, and for the Crown to send them against a noble, why, that is a very dangerous act. An invitation, almost, to a discontented noble to form his own army. I can think of a great many men who would do it, were they pushed, and a great many common folk like you and I who would take that coin, were their families starving, as so many are. No, Elizabeth, this is not the only place of shame, there are many such throughout England, and in other countries, I dare say, too. We are all savages at heart, when we are pushed. Some folk reach out to help others, and some folk think only of themselves and their rights, and here you see that writ plainly on the land.” 

Elizabeth patted her aunt on the knee. “Let us find some nice places that make you sneeze, aunt.”

Her aunt’s eyes smiled over the mask, although they were reddened. True to her uncle’s word, the next stretch of the country, although there were fields that were patchworked to be sure with weeds, and incursions from the hedgerow, there were ever crops being worked, and even workers in the fields, and Elizabeth’s heart gave a beat or two for it, before her aunt sneezed, and they all laughed.  
In the next town, Mr Gardiner had a meeting to attend, so they stopped overnight. It was an unnerving experience for Elizabeth, who felt acutely each touch to a door, a chair, a surface of the inn, in which they stayed. Mr and Mrs Gardiner joked, but Elizabeth observed that each made sure to wipe each down with their own bottle of protective spirits, and each scrubbed their hands well before they shared a meal together in their rooms. The next night, it was less a shock, and more a routine, and by the third night, it had become commonplace. 

Not commonplace were the variety of towns. Elizabeth had fancied she understood what made up a village, a high street, a church or two, a town hall, and a public house, but it seemed that the same elements were applied differently in each county. 

In one, the village was placed in the midst of meadows and greens, with leafy commons on either side stretching out into the distance, and the high street was a simple strip, beginning without reason in one place and ending without much reason in the other, with wide streets in which the persons of that town found an easy place to halt and converse, socially distant, but blocking traffic, with a public house with more people outside it than in. The walls were as yellow as sand, and the rooves thatched, with roses twining up and down walls, and the village reminded Elizabeth pleasantly of one giant hen house, although it smelt much more pleasantly of high grass, and sweet blooms.

In another, the village appeared to have accreted itself around a central public house, with the buildings clinging to each other for comfort and leaning towards each other for warmth against the winds, chill even in the midst of the summer sun, and perfumed by coal. Black beams held the houses upright, and the whiteness of their plaster tempted Elizabeth to mild acts of civil disobedience which she resisted assiduously, Lydia had ever been the artist, if an untrained and undisciplined one, and she should hate to think that any permanent mark that she left on any place was unworthy. Lydia would adore it, and it should be added to her list of locations to visit one day, should the ‘virus and Mr Bennett allow.

Then there were swans on the Avon, and Elizabeth occupied herself with reciting snippets of sonnets with Mrs Gardiner, who had seen many Shakespeare plays in London, but not had the opportunity to read over any of his verse, and an altogether splendid time was had by both reciter and recitee, as Mr Gardiner drover them from quaint village here (with swans) to interesting Roman red walled ruins there, and other than when they stopped for the night, or for a meal that was not a picnic basket supplied by their previous inn, little thought had to be given to the ‘virus. In the leafy green shaded lanes, or climbing over the stones of a relic, Elizabeth felt so light that she could quite almost forget the ‘virus, and her weakened lungs, and all the troubles of the past months. It all felt as if she had woken from a terrible dream, into a better life, with cleaner fresh air, and dangers removed, and she was almost ready to snap at her uncle, when he bade them all back into the carriage at the end of each afternoon’s excursion, were it not that he were responsible for allowing her space to have the dream in the first instance. 

They visited several estates, where the families were ensconced in London. They were all, without exception, much more harmonious in construction than Rosings Park, in Elizabeth’s estimation, and she enjoyed every minute of them. Mr Gardiner and Mrs Gardiner enjoyed her enjoying it, and the the housekeepers enjoyed showing them around, and then Elizabeth enjoyed writing to Jane about the different furnishings, the French gilding in one, the striped wallpaper in another, the extensive glass windows, the dark wood floors, and the family portraits always frowning down upon the intruders. There was a smell, that was the same, in each, beeswax from the polish, and mothballs against the obvious. In one, she caught a whiff of lavender, and complimented the housekeeper, and then felt very provincial, and said nothing more. 

The country, too, became progressively more and more rugged, the soft grass to harsher bracken, and heathers, and up the hills they went. The gentle slopes had long since given way to ridges and rocks, and now conceded the victory to the Peaks, moors that swept into a distant yonder and promised madness, and grounds that fell away into cliffs of a sudden, taken by gusts of winds, with views that transcended the ordinary, that made Elizabeth feel both small and insignificant and yet an integral part of everything, that she had a place in the magnificence, that she belonged. The carriage ride to Lambton was a quiet one, for although Mrs Gardiner assayed various topics, Elizabeth could not bring herself to focus on any of them, with her vision still full of the infinite.

It was with some confusion, therefore, that she reengaged with the conversation over dinner in their rooms at Lambton Inn. The public rooms below were quiet, as had been all the other inns, and the service was consequentially excellent, as the publican not only knew the Gardiners, but had time and inclination to cater to them as honoured guests. Hence, a large plate of sliced roast, buttered toast (not lightly either), courgettes in butter, and local fresh cheese, stood on the large wooden table before them, rather than the rather sparse stew and bread that Elizabeth had supposed would be their lot, on the road. The day had left her hungry, and she busied herself with the business of refuelling the body while she endeavoured to ascertain of what her aunt and uncle spoke. 

“Tomorrow then for your cousin?” said Mr Gardiner.

“Yes, and then the day after, we will spend taking in the sights of Pemberley. I understand that Mr and Miss Darcy are in London, so we shall have the place quite to ourselves, apart from any other visitors, of course,” said Mrs Gardiner calmly, taking another slice of courgette, and dicing it absentmindedly. 

Elizabeth felt a sharp chill run through her, as if she stood yet on the cliff and braced herself against the breeze. He lived then, after all.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elizabeth's internal monologue can best be described as fevered. (although not too fevered. This story is fairly on the SFW side. If I feel the inclination towards the other, it shall be in a separate work, easily skipped if such is not to your taste, dear reader. No, it is merely that summer in Derbyshire can be warm.

“You are certain that the family is not at Pemberley,” asked Elizabeth, not for the first time, as they left the public house and the publican again provided the same responses as before, to the effect that no one could say for certain in these strange times, and rich folk did as they pleased at any time any way, but they understood that Pemberley could be visited, and that meant that they were most likely not home.

“Besides, they’re not the folk to care. No, they’re right decent folks, the Darcys. Planted out their big lawn for us with wheat and all, never mind how it looks, for those who couldn’t manage their own.   
There’s always something for them’s at needs it at Pemberley, so can’t think they’d mind a couple of gentlefolk like yourselves just stopping by to see the sights. You go on up, and never mind if they’re home or not,” said the publican. 

Mr Gardiner nodded. “We shall take a turn out there tomorrow then if the weather holds fair and take our chances.”

“Oh, Mr Darcy is a fine fellow, you won’t hear a word of complaint out of him. He keeps his powder dry unless there’s need for it. But when he does let fly, my word, you’d best stay clear. And stay clear for good – it takes a mountain of wrong to move him, but when he’s moved, he’s fierce as a bull. Like his father afore him. Shouldn’t expect that a fine couple like yourself, with such a pretty maid, will have any issue at all.”

“An eye for ladies, is that what you mean?” asked Mr Gardiner, tucking his wife’s arm into his possessively, to that lady’s amusement.

“Come now, sir, I won’t have you talk of him in that manner. He is a gentleman in all respects. Worships the ground his little sister walks on, and never a breath of scandal about him, more than I can say for some around these parts, who’ve gone to London to carry on without a lick of sense about them. No, we all think the world of Mr Darcy. I don’t know who’s good enough to deserve him, I’m sure I don’t. It’s not many young gentleman could step into their father’s shoes at such a young age, not but four and twenty, and manage their estate to such a credit. He’s only got better since then, too. I won’t have you think he’s anything less that what a gentleman ought to be.”

Mr Gardiner nodded. “I quite understand. Thank you, but I cannot be too careful with my niece, not in these strange times. I am sure I do not have to tell you of some of the behaviour we have seen in London, even from the nobility. As if the sky had fallen, and it did not matter anymore what they did, given the prospect of mortality.”

The publican tipped his hat, placated, and they took their leave and made for the door, and their carriage.

“If I had a house in London,” said the barkeep, just within Elizabeth’s hearing, “I would be always in it. I would hold such parties, and everyone would be invited, and we would drink the town dry. I wouldn’t hold back on the skirts either. I’d live for today, eh?”

“Then you wouldn’t have a tomorrow,” said someone else, and the rest was lost in laughter. 

“I think a little living is in order,” said Mrs Gardiner, helping Elizabeth into the coach. “Even if they are at home, the grounds themselves are splendid. It did not stop us at other great houses, Elizabeth, so I think you should not allow it to do so for Pemberley. The house itself is an understated masterpiece, but the grounds, oh, I cannot do them justice. Let me say instead that everything you are looking for is to be found there, there are formal gardens that must keep the hedge trimmers busy, and a potager to rival the French, with such an exquisite greenhouse, such a light structure, but without ornate wastage of glass, your father would be quite jealous. Mr Darcy as was used to collect orchids, but I do not know whether young Mr Darcy has kept them up. And then, the woods, and the wildernesses, and the flower meadow, and the lake, and the red ruins, I do say, Elizabeth, it would be a shame to drive by and miss it. Mr Darcy cannot be so very terrible, no matter what Mr Wickham has told you.”

Elizabeth coloured, but kept her voice steady. “If the publican thinks they are from home, then I dare say we can chance it, if it is as beautiful as you say, aunt.”

Mr Gardiner smiled. “I shall protect you, niece, if it comes to that.”

Elizabeth looked at her hands to avoid her aunt’s curious gaze, as her blush intensified. “I do not think Mr Darcy to be any more terrible than any other landed gentleman. Mr Wickham may not have told us all the story. Perhaps we should reserve judgement of the gentleman until we are better acquaintances. Truly, I do not mind.”

Her hands were very interesting in her gloves, she found. There was a small hole developing at her right wrist, which would require mending that night when they returned to Lambton Inn. There was no honourable way she could think of to tell her aunt the entirety of what she knew of Mr Darcy, or how she felt towards him, when she was not entirely clear on the latter herself. With any luck, in any case, the gentleman would be recovering in London, as thought by the publican, and no one would need to become better acquainted, and the question of whether Mr Darcy was terrible, or something else entirely, would not need to be answered. To lose his father at such an age! And be expected to assume his mantle, and step into all his business dealings, let alone the management of his young sister! No wonder the gentleman had such an amount of letters to write during his time at Netherfield. He had not mentioned a word of the cares that he bore, not until pressed. Whereas from Mr Wickham, it had been nothing but a long list of woes, and all of them laid at the foot of the other. Poor Mr Darcy!

When she looked up, she found her aunt still gazing at her, and with an eyebrow cocked, and mouth pursed. She maintained, as best she could, composure, and looked away and to the countryside which was indeed, as promised, beautiful.

Lambton was indeed a charming village, as promised by her aunt, and her cousin very hospitable. They had a small holding west of the village, with rye fields, and barley, and had an arrangement with her uncle for trade, which occupied her uncle for the day. Her aunt’s cousin had been delighted to see them, and her nephews and nieces likewise. Their plans to visit Pemberley were applauded, and when Elizabeth enquired, Mr Darcy was praised as a most generous soul, who cared greatly for his estate and the people on it, supporting all the praise that the publican had volunteered that morning.   
Her aunt, naturally, wished to visit with her cousin, and hence Elizabeth spent the majority of the visit entertaining her aunt’s nephews and nieces, so that her aunt might spend her time with her cousin to best advantage. This had involved a great deal of running up and down back lanes with their sheep dog, and games of ball and hide and go seek, and Elizabeth was relieved that her lungs withstood it all. They were joyful children, and exuberant with it, and their dog likewise, and consequently Elizabeth did not have leisure to think terribly much on Mr Darcy and the character study that she wished to refine, had an excellent day, and was exhausted by the end of it, hot, tanned, and sweaty. There had been a sponge bath, and so technically Elizabeth was clean, and yet continued to feel as flushed and heated in her blood as if she was not. The prospect of seeing Mr Darcy’s home was not assisting.

The lane from Lambton to Pemberley was flanked with trees in full green leaf, hedgerows scatted with both blossom and berry, and birds chirruping peacefully to each other, no doubt of warnings about nests, and territorial incursions, and whose feathers were more brilliant, but the effect was melodious and Elizabeth let herself enjoy it without considering its meaning for too long. 

“So far, aunt,” said Elizabeth, “it is pleasant enough, but I see no great reason for holding this above all other districts – “ and then she stopped, for they had turned the corner, and she had seen Pemberley.

“Stop the carriage,” said Mrs Gardiner softly to Mr Gardiner, and he did so, pulling the carriage to the side of the road, and holding the horses steady.

It was a grand estate, to be sure, but no grander than those they had visited over the last fortnight, slightly larger, Elizabeth was gratified to note, than Rosings Park, although she did not question herself as to why that was pleasing. There was no ostentatiousness of style, nor mismatched features, the entirety was of one mind, and one fashion, and with clean lines, with the effect that the whole stood firmly out, and the beholder either approved, or did not, with no apology from the building itself. Elizabeth found she was in the former category. There were two symmetrical wings, and a courtyard in the middle flanked on three sides, protective from the wind, and from all sides, tall windows gazed down on the estate in every direction.

Elizabeth found, too, that she could not help but be pleased by the grounds of the estate either, even if she tried. She could see the wheat field, which must have formerly been green lawns, and the formal garden at the front, with a maze suitable for an afternoon’s wander, in which one could easily spend a pleasant time becoming lost with a book, or an apple, or an appropriately pleasing gentleman. To the other side, she saw the promised flower meadow, or at least so she assumed, from the smudges of colour, and the far off boxed portable hives. The other side of the estate from the drive was wooded, and she imagined that should she have chosen otherwise, she might even now be riding through them, with a certain gentleman at her side. It would not do, she chided herself, to be fanciful, for such a thing could not, and would not be. She was here as a guest, and nothing more, and one day, he would find a more suitable, better bred, wood nymph with which to ride, and she would not think of him anymore.

“Well?” said Mr Gardiner, smiling at his wife. “Is that enough time to drink it all in? May we proceed?”

Elizabeth smiled back. “I am prepared.”

She could not help but feel a phantom presence in the coach beside her, a silent observer of her own observations of the estate, as they rode up the drive. As she nodded in approval of the wheat fields, golden heads bobbing in the breeze, she fancied she heard his voice, explaining that there had been some in the county who had been stricken, and unable to plant out, and since winter hardened wheat gave better, more nutritious flour, he had directed his foreman to have the lawn sacrificed, and if she looked closely, she would see local villagers taking a tithe for their own use, and so she looked and saw them, and could not help but smile ‘neath her mask. 

She wondered to herself whether there were still violets in the woods, and heard him reassure her that there would be, but to look at the poppies tinging the meadow with red, and think of the honey, more subtle in flavour than Hunsford’s or Longbourne’s but no less sweet for all that. Think of how sweet it would be, on lightly buttered toast, or on kisses shared after such a breakfast, if she had said yes. She could feel it on her tongue, if she imagined hard enough. If she imagined hard enough, she could feel her hand in hers again.

“You are quite flushed, Elizabeth,” said Mrs Gardiner. “Are you well? Should we stop the carriage and have a drink, a rest? Should we put the roof up? It would be a shame to miss the views, but more of a shame for you to suffer from the heat”

She shook her head. “I am quite well, aunt, ‘tis just the heat of the day. I dare say Pemberley will be cooler inside, these great houses always are.”

Her aunt nodded. “The lake is on the other side, but perhaps we can take a turn by it after we visit the house. The sight of water is always cooling, is it not? Lydia must be having a lovely time at Brighton, with all this heat.”

Elizabeth nodded, but privately, she chastised herself. She had not given two thoughts to her youngest sister since they had entered the northern counties. Lydia would be enjoying herself, no doubt, for she always found some reason for enjoyment, no matter the location or company, it was one of the most appealing parts of her personality. Less so was her propensity to disregard the conventions of propriety, and who knows what she was in fact doing by the seaside? There was nothing that could be done about it from the Peak district, that was to be sure, and she was no Mr Darcy, with the authority he had over his sister, to be able to enforce her views of what was proper. If Mr Bennett had relented and allowed her to travel to Brighton with the Forsters, then she was not entitled to say anything further. She sighed, and returned her gaze to the drive, as they were pulling into the final curves, then into the courtyard, and Pemberley presented itself, like a well bred hound standing for inspection.

The windows gazed down on her, and she smiled back up at them, from the steps of the courtyard, where Mr Gardiner was halting the horses. She told her imagination to stop conjuring up images of a smiling Mr Darcy, holding out his hands to her in welcome, flocked by small children with unruly brown curls and beaming smiles and dirty faces, with tales to tell their mother on return from her parents, and she focussed on what was actually before her, a splendid redbricked house of with two wings stretching out to either side of a central courtyard. She found it very much to her tastes, with an air of welcome, as if the courtyard held arms about them protectively from the heat. 

“It is not as big as Chatham House, to be certain, my dear,” said Mr Gardiner, “and is quite without the French influence we saw at Angolives, but I do see the promised charm, my dear. What say you, Elizabeth? Shall we brave the dragon’s den and peer within?” 

Elizabeth could not be more grateful to her uncle if she tried. Her aunt had not waited on her husband’s invitation, and had already managed to disembark, and to make her way to the waiting housekeeper.

“Mrs Reynolds, is it not? You may not remember me, I am Mrs Gardiner now, but I was Frances Smith, of Lambton.”

Mrs Reynolds held out a water basin and soap. “Let us pretend to remember each other well, and let me instead welcome you to Pemberley and back to the district, Mrs Gardiner.”

All washed their hands, and thanked her, as she directed the removal of their carriage to the carriage house, and a footman, whistling, drove it away. 

“Welcome to Pemberley,” said Mrs Reynolds. “Mrs Gardiner, if you came here as a child, I can assure you that very little will have changed since then. Mr Gardiner and Miss Gardiner, I would be delighted to show you the rooms, other than the private rooms of the family, of course, for they are home.”

Mr Gardiner explained to Mrs Reynolds that this was his niece Miss Bennett, rather than his daughter, and of course they would be grateful for a tour of whatever the family was happy for them to see, and many other courtesies were observed about the condition of the drive, and the coolness of the hall, and so on, but Elizabeth did not hear a word. He was here, somewhere, in the same county, and she was not prepared.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elizabeth almost receives everything she deserves

The first time Elizabeth attended an Assembly, she was sixteen, and mortified. In her sister Jane’s second best dress, and with hair in ringlets too tight for comfort or flattering effect, and terribly concerned as to what she should say, and to whom she should say it, and whether anyone should ask her to dance, and if they asked her, whether she should remember the steps, and naturally, no great terrible disasters befell her, only a series of minor embarrassments, toes trodden on, spilt punch, and a number of conversations that fizzled into nothings, and yet she stayed up the rest of the sleepless night reflecting on what she should change for next time, and was consequently much more entertained by it.

The first time Elizabeth rode a horse, she had been terrified. Such a large animal, and she was so small at the time, a girl of nine. Her mother had said that she was too young, Jane had not ridden until she was twelve and that made her more determined, and her father had never been proof against any of his daughters’ entreaties, and this was no different. She alighted, and promptly fell off. Then got up and did it again. And again, and rode that horse until her legs and seat were sore. And then the next day, did it over. 

The first time Elizabeth had thought that a gentleman was so handsome that she would die if he did not talk to her, she had avoided him for days, for weeks, and for so long that in fact, the gentleman had left the county before she mustered the courage to do so. The next time she thought a gentleman more interesting than his fellows, she engineered a dropped handkerchief, and thanked him profusely when he fetched it. The fact that the fellow proved through his subsequent conversation to be not as interesting as he appeared was neither here nor there.

Elizabeth was never prepared the first time, for no one could be the first time they have a new experience, but she prided herself on being prepared for the second, every time. Happy are those, as her cousin in law would say, who can learn of their faults and put in the work to mend them. It would be an understatement to say that she did not feel quite adequate to the task of tackling Mr Darcy a third time, with his home ground advantage. 

Mrs Reynolds was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity, rare in the current times of few visitors of any kind, to detail the attractive features of the entrance hall to the Gardiners, which was something that Elizabeth would have also thoroughly enjoyed had she been confident that Mr Darcy would not appear. To arrive, unannounced, at his house, and view his private affairs, like they were a book stolen from his library? Too rude. Too much like prying, like Miss Bingley, with her forever voiced questions. As much as she longed to know the interiors of Pemberley intimately, she could not bear it. The last straw was the sound of far off, excellently executed, strains of Mozart on a brilliant sounding piano, which must be his highly accomplished young sister Georgiana, by whom all young ladies must be judged, and because of whom all young ladies must be protected, and with whom an indulgent brother such as Mr Darcy might be expected to be found. She begged to be excused, as in need of fresh air. 

Although Mrs Reynolds looked confused, as one might expect given the tour had hardly begun, and she was by no means a poor story teller, and further more it was much cooler inside than out, she was directed to the grounds at the rear of the house, to find the woodland and lake, which Mrs Reynolds suggested a young lady such as herself might consider appealing on a day as fine as this.  
It was much easier to breathe, Elizabeth felt, in the shade of the trees that lined the pleasant avenue that ran away from the house. It was curved, slightly, to preserve one supposed an air of mystery for the walker, but she could see to her left, the family’s potager, vividly green and lush, well cared for, despite the impact of the current ‘virus, and to the right, the relics of old Roman red walls, but she convinced herself that if to intrude on his family’s house was a liberty, to climb his relics would be altogether inappropriate, and resisted, although the temptation was strong. The woods were clearly old, large gnarled oaks, and chestnuts at intervals, but with young new light green growth extending out on all sides, and yes, violets at their feet. She could feel, but not see, a stream, somewhere, accompanying the road down the hill, and although she could not see it, she did feel cooler for the walk, and the shade, and by the foot of the hill, she was quite recovered, herself again. For who was Elizabeth Bennett to be afraid of meeting with any gentleman, even one who made her feel such extremes of improper emotions? Even if she was afraid, she should not allow the fear to deprive her of the pleasure of a fine walk, on such a beautifully sunny day. She should not. 

It was as well that she had completed her reverie by the completion of the fall of the hill, for the lake there shone so brilliantly through the trees that she felt justified in making her way through the woods through the slight tracks, despite the lack of decorum, despite it not being her property to explore. The view once she broke the cover of the trees was stunning, a large lake, flanked by tall reeds, with greens sloping down on either side, and more woods on the opposite, white swans and their cygnets making trains across to no doubt nests in the other tall reeds, and, once she focussed and checked what she was seeing, twice, a lone swimmer, breaking the water cleanly and leaving a wake behind him, slow but sure, and elegant in motion and obviously recovered from any ills with which the ‘virus had beset him. She could feel the scene, the image of it, leaving an indelible imprint, and paused before going further, to make sure it sunk in, the feeling of relief, and the vision of the lake blending into one. There was no point in wishing for an easel and paints, for the scene was changing, ever changing, and a fixed image would do it no justice. No, the appropriate response to it was to pause, and watch, and reflect. 

Which she did, until she realised that she was by no means the first to beat her way through this particular wood, and that in point of fact, there was a small jetty through the reeds to the right, and a narrow track, and that, in further point of fact, there was a small pile of clothes on the jetty, and that the swimmer, in last point of fact, was making his way to them, having no doubt seen her.   
She could have fled back into the woods, she supposed, but it did not seem appropriate, after the speech she had given, even if it was only to herself. No, it would smack of cowardice. The best thing to do would be to apologise for the intrusion, and then beat a retreat. That would not be cowardly at all. She would greet him, give a short curtsey, enquire after his health, and then leave him to his lake bathing. She felt entirely able for that task.

Unfortunately, as the swimmer drew nearer to the jetty, Elizabeth discerned that it would not be appropriate, after all, to remain, as it appeared that Mr Darcy had elected, as any young gentleman might on his own private estate, unburdened by prying eyes, to swim but in the clothing which the good Lord had allotted him at birth. She would rather be regarded as a coward than an opportunistic young foolish lady seeking to ensnare a gentleman, no matter how much the gentleman in question might wish to be so ensnared. It was the work of moments to retrace her steps back through the wooded shores edge to the road on which she had walked down the hill, and then again she paused. He might, given the way in which they had parted, take meaning from her leaving altogether, which she did not intend. Perhaps it was best, given the circumstances, that she find an appropriate log, and wait for him to play the role of wood nymph, and appear from amidst the dappled shadows, rather than retreat.   
It was not a long wait at all, and the gentleman was somewhat dishevelled when he did appear, but decently enough clad, so that they might converse, and Elizabeth told herself that she was not disappointed, although she knew in her heart of hearts that she was secretly tracing the water droplets that traced his chin, down ‘neath his collar, and blushed for it. His chin, and his nose, and his cheekbones stood in high relief, as if he had been pared back to essentials by the ‘virus, and lost part of himself in the fight. But his eyes were the same, even if they did not twinkle, and she took not a little comfort in that. 

The birds in the trees continued to chatter, and the wind caused the reeds to whisper together, but other than that, the silence as they stood, looking at each other, each waiting for the other to speak first, was deafening. Elizabeth felt as if she would laugh, and was thankful for her mask behind which to hide her twitching lips, the gentleman had no such luxury. Consequently, Mr Darcy’s laugh was not a thing that could be concealed, nor was it restrained.

“Miss Bennett,” he managed to speak between laughing, and coughing, and Elizabeth could not but feel a pang at the reversion to manners even though she was the one who had insisted on it, “it seems that you have me at a disadvantage, as appears to be ever the case when we meet. I must apologise for my condition, again.”

Elizabeth would have blushed, were she not already doing so. “Sir, the fault is mine. I should not have trespassed on your housekeeper’s kind invitation. I should have known – “

“That I would have chosen to bathe in my lake? That I was here? No, I think you give yourself too much responsibility there. Let us simply agree to leave the water where it lies, and start again. I shall say   
This is indeed a welcome surprise, Miss Bennett, and then you shall say whatever you like.”

Elizabeth smiled under her mask. “It is indeed, Mr Darcy. I shall say that I am relieved to see you looking so well, even if I had not expected to see quite so much of you. I should not have said that. No, it is I who must apologise now. I do beg your pardon, sir.”

Mr Darcy shook his head, again with water spraying. “This is a sorry business. We must stop at once, or we shall never get on. How is it you come to be here? Mistake me not, I am not wishing you away, I am but a trifle confused. But I would not wish to pry. You may tell me or not, as you wish. Or does the lake water have me addled and you are not here at all?”

Elizabeth shook her head gravely, with no accompanying spray of water. “My uncle is on travel for business, visiting his trade partners, and my aunt and uncle were kind enough to invite me to accompany them. My aunt is from Lambton, and so she would not be dissuaded from showing me the district’s greatest estate, in her estimation.”

That caught a half smile from him, a twist of the mouth. “In her estimation. I see. I shall not dare to ask how it fares, in yours.”

Elizabeth hid her smile behind her mask, and cast her eyes down to his bare feet, caked in lake mud. “I have not seen as much of it as I should like, but what I have seen, I like more than I expected.”

Mr Darcy now found his feet very interesting also. “I am glad. Forgive me, how is your family. I take it that your aunt and uncle are in good health, but your sisters and parents?”

“All were well when we left. Plus I appear to have gained, almost, a brother, for which I suspect I have you to thank?”

Mr Darcy looked up from his intense study of their feet, his in mud, hers more carefully shod. “Do you mean to say that Bingley has posed the question? I have not seen him for a good several months. Am I right?”

Elizabeth met his eyes, probing, but he did look genuinely surprised. “You are right, sir. Our family has been transformed, once again, into a hive of preparation, and Mr Bingley, if he were present, would be pampered by my mother within an inch of his life. But his business keeps him on the move, and so Jane is waiting for the ‘virus to calm again, and Mr Bingley to return. I fear my mother will have quite exhausted her creative spirits by the time he does so, and she will certainly have exhausted the rest of us! Which may explain, sir, why I am here, and far from home. But yes, Mr Bingley and Jane seem most delighted with each other.”

“My most hearty congratulations, then,” said Mr Darcy, and then they were silent once more. They proceeded back up the path, in no great hurry. “I do not wish to pry any further, but I should be grateful to know if the militia are still at Meryton? Or is your family safe?” 

Elizabeth laughed involuntarily, and then caught herself. “I do not mean to make light of the situation, sir, but it seems so wrong, to be considering us at risk from our own armed troops. But yes, the militia were to relocate to the seaside for the summer, and Mr Wickham with them. I trust that they have done so, but I have been from home for some time now. My youngest sister Lydia is likely there also, but she is with Colonel Foster, if she is, so she will be safe. Put your mind at rest on our account, Mr Darcy.”

Mr Darcy looked up the drive towards the house, and she could not read his expression. “Thank you, Miss Bennett.” He walked in silence, and Elizabeth stole a look at his profile. Despite the energy he had displayed in the water, as well as other things, his jawline was much sharper than she recalled, and there were dark hollows under his eyes, evidencing only too clearly that he was only mortal, and he had come quite close to that being tested too severely. 

“I wish to say something, but I do not wish you to infer any meaning from it, simply the bare words. No matter how we parted, Mr Darcy, I am grateful that you are well. There, no do not say anything in reply, and all shall be well.” She fixed her gaze on the house also.

They walked on in silence briefly before he spoke. “Since you do not wish us to speak of the manner of our parting, I will not. We shall start anew. Hallo. I am Mr Darcy, of Pemberley. May I have the pleasure of this walk, and the honour of introducing you to my sister, and beg for the indulgence of an introduction to your aunt and uncle?”

She could not help but laugh again. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Darcy. I should be delighted to meet your sister, and to introduce you to my family. Will that do for a first exchange of pleasantries?”

Mr Darcy smiled, and led the way, although he did insist on diverging from the main road to show her the red ruined walls, and the remains of a fresco, and to pick her a violet or two, which she placed carefully in her pocket, and then up via the greenhouse, the better to demonstrate his father’s orchid collection, to which the Colonel had added, and then she insisted that her aunt and uncle would be concerned as to her whereabouts. Then it was but a short trip, he said, back to the house, but there was a side gate, and then up a side passage, and into yet another passage, until they reached a kitchen, with a team of people busily peeling potatoes, and scrubbing pots and pans, and stripping down leaves, and all, without exception, greeted Mr Darcy with welcome that seemed real, and joy that seemed unfeigned, and which he acknowledged with what seemed genuine affection, and stopped only to rub a hound’s soft ear or two, and clean off and don his shoes before moving on. Then there were more corridors, and secret staircases, and before Elizabeth knew it, she found herself in an elegant, well lit drawing room, with sofas and chairs placed in sensible distances from the walls, and with no foolish tables, and very few decorative knick knacks deposited in precarious situations designed to trip up the unaware, but instead, one gloriously inlaid piano being played with skill and verve by a young lady whose face and sturdy frame strongly resembled Mr Darcy, but with brown curls all a tumble down her back, and one navy blue ribbon tying it away from her face, clearly not intending company, which did not arrest Mr Darcy in his flight, escorting Elizabeth not to a seat, but directly to stand by the piano. Miss Darcy stopped immediately, although managing to finish on a harmonious note rather than a carriage crash of discordance.

“Brother!” she exclaimed. “You took me quite by surprise. I thought I had fastened that door securely.”

Mr Darcy grinned, and for an instant Elizabeth glimpsed the mischievous boy he must have been, before he became Mr Darcy, guardian of Georgiana and master of Pemberley, but only for an instant. “You did, but you were so caught up with your music, as ever, that you did not hear us come in. I dare say, Georgiana, that we could have entered with trumpets and fanfare and you would have behaved the same. No matter. I apologise for the intrusion. Am I forgiven?”

“You are, of course.”

“Miss Bennett, may I present to you my sister Georgiana, who plays much better than she attends to outside noises. Georgiana, may I introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennett, of Longbourn?” said Mr Darcy, with an expression that Elizabeth only just caught, and recognised as being akin to the one that Jane wore, when she was begging Lydia not to teaze. 

She could see too, if she read Georgiana’s face right, the internal war she waged betwixt wishing to twit her brother about his manner of introduction, and wishing to appear mannerly and grown up, and wondered which would win. She did not expect what happened next.

“Oh! Miss Bennett, I am so delighted to meet you! Fitzwilliam and the Colonel have told me of your bravery with my aunt, and I so wished that I might have the privilege of making your acquaintance, you are quite my hero. What a delightful surprise! Fitzwilliam, you are so good to me, what a good joke to not tell me that Miss Bennett was coming.”

Elizabeth felt that she did not quite have an answer for any of this, and looked at Mr Darcy, now seated on one of the sofas, and flushed a mild shade of red. “I am afraid your brother is not to be blamed in this instance, but me. My aunt and uncle were kind enough to bring me to see your estate, and I thought you all to be in London, or we should not have trespassed on your kindness.”

“No,” laughed Georgiana, and shook her hair back into place, standing away from the piano. “We sent for a physician from London for Fitzwilliam, he was so very ill. All his misdeeds, he said, come home to roost, and the physician told him he spoke rot, and gave him feverfew and told him to rest, and I do not know what else. He had not had the ‘virus before, you see, and it hit him very hard. He had hardly any breath to speak of, and when he did, he –“

“Georgiana,” said Mr Darcy, “should you like to meet Mrs and Mr Gardiner, Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle? Mrs Reynolds is likely showing them the greenhouse, or the sculptery, you know how she does like to dwell on the details. Shall we?”

“Oh!” said Georgiana, “let us do that.”

Elizabeth would have liked to have allowed Georgiana to speak for longer, as she reminded Elizabeth strongly of a more genteel version of Kitty, or at least Kitty as was before Lady Catherine took her to hand, and perhaps a Kitty who had been used to being a favourite, rather than one of many, and was consequently more confident of affection. It was hard to reconcile this sunny creature with someone who had been through the mills of peril and lived to tell the tale, or rather, to not tell the tale, and she thought it spoke well of her brother, who was even now affectionately shooing his sister through the doors, and offering his arm to her. Mr Darcy did not speak as they allowed themselves to be shepherded through the halls to track down Mrs Reynolds, and the Gardiners, with Georgiana providing commentary on the portraits on the walls, and the inlay on the floors, neither too ostentatious nor too effacing, and the windows and the views that could be seen, and of course the Bingley cloth that served as drapes, for Mr Darcy wanted to support, and be seen to support his friend, prior to the pandemic, Miss Bennett must understand, to which Elizabeth nodded, and admired the navy and the serge, and allowed herself to be swept on. She was conscious of Mr Darcy watching her, but she was not brave enough to allow herself to question him on any particular point, or to question herself as to why she was not brave on this particular day, or perhaps, with this particular person. Perhaps, she wondered, she was nervous as to whether he would resume his opinions of her family, once he met another extension of them, but then she chastised herself, for the Gardiners were perfectly mannerly people, and above the particular reproaches that he had laid at the general Bennett feet, and it would not do to allow herself to be concerned on that ground, ‘alea iacta est’ as her father would say.

Mrs Reynolds was indeed in the sculpture hall, a fine area with high ceilings, and consequently of cool air, and with her the Gardiners, examining the many fine examples of white marble carefully positioned about the hall. 

“Sir,” said she. “I see that you have found our lost lamb! Miss Bennett was not feeling very well, and left the house in search of fresh air. Miss Bennett, I trust you have recovered? Did you care for our grounds?” 

Elizabeth smiled, but she could see her aunt and uncle’s puzzled eyes above their masks. “I did, very much. Mr Darcy was good enough to show me even more than I expected. Your estate is very fine indeed. Aunt, uncle, may I present Mr Darcy of Pemberley? Mr Darcy, my aunt and uncle, the Gardiners.”

Her aunt made to speak, but Mr Darcy interjected. “Forgive me, if I am wrong, but you are one of the Smiths, of Lambton, are you not, Mrs Gardiner?”  
Her aunt nodded. “Yes, sir. My cousin lives there still, but I would not have expected you to remember.”

Mr Darcy smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, and your husband. Mr Gardiner, I understand that you look after the wheat trade for some of the north farms above Lambton. Perhaps we should speak later about wheat futures, for I have some concerns about the stock markets in London and the basis of their current predictions. I fear that they are not soundly based. But on such a pleasant day, perhaps I should ask you a better question: are you fond of fishing? Our streams are overstocked, for I have been unable to indulge myself of late, and all my usual stalwarts of the rod have been locked down in their own districts. Can I tempt you to a spot of an exercise in patience? I know your niece is well versed.”

The Gardiners looked as one at Elizabeth, and she coloured mightily. Never more had she regretted maintaining her own counsel more, if it would give Mr Darcy an opportunity to tease her without her being able to tease him back, although it could have been said that she had started it.

“I would dearly love an opportunity, sir, if we have good weather on the morrow.” Said Mr Gardiner finally, after looking to his wife for approval.

“And you must stay for dinner, if you are not elsewhere committed,” said Mr Darcy. “That is, if it would suit you to do so,” he added, looking at Elizabeth. “I would not want to be accused of being one of those inconsiderate gentlemen who considers everyone at his disposal, like so many chess pieces being moved about. Is that not right, Georgiana?” 

Georgiana smiled her approval, and Elizabeth discerned that perhaps Georgiana had laid that fault at his door also. 

“I shall fetch tea to the drawing room shortly,” said Mrs Reynolds, “as I can see that you no longer need your tour guide. It has been a pleasure.”

Mr and Mrs Gardiner exchanged many pleasantries with Mrs Reynolds, and Elizabeth watched Georgiana and Mr Darcy bicker, in the way of siblings everywhere, before they turned back. 

“Georgiana wants me to ask you something,” said Mr Darcy, “but I have told her you had much better ask you herself.” 

“I am all ears,” said Elizabeth, “ask away.”

It transpired that Georgiana’s request was nothing more than to play a piano duet, and once they had relocated, Elizabeth obliged. 

The piano was indeed a beautiful one, and well tuned, and Georgiana proved to be a very patient duet partner, for Elizabeth was not, she would be the first to admit, as fine a player, nor as accomplished in sight reading, but they had fun together, and ended without tears, and best of all, Elizabeth, who had feared that they would finish to a room with all eyes and attention, was delighted to discover Mr Darcy and the Gardiners earnestly discussing something or other by the window, with cups of tea in hand, quite without affectation or consideration of the differences in rank. Almost as if they were family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sorely wanted to write Elizabeth standing and making Mr Darcy leave the lake sans apparel, but it would not do.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end.

Mrs Gardiner resisted the urge to raise her eyebrow at Elizabeth only so far as the boundary of Pemberley. 

“I find it very interesting,” said she, to the air, as Elizabeth closed the gates, “that our niece should be on such intimate terms with the owner of this estate, Mr Gardiner, and yet not think to mention it. Do you not find it interesting?”

“Most interesting, my dear. I found Mr Darcy to be a very pleasant sort of fellow, but that could be because we are to fish together, and it is not every gentleman who has a fine estate who is free with his fishing rights. Had I known he was so affable, I should have imposed upon your cousin to solicit an introduction years ago. But perhaps his affability is to do with a certain young lady of our acquaintance, who even now sits in her carriage, do you think?” said Mr Gardiner, over his shoulder, as Elizabeth took her place on the carriage seat.

“Perhaps. She can be very charming, when she wants to be. I do question, however, Elizabeth, whether it was truly prudent to remain alone in any young gentleman’s company, even such a one as the Master of Pemberley. This is not Longbourn, or Meryton, and while you are not wild, we do not know the same of Mr Darcy.” Mrs Gardiner looked, all sensibleness, at her niece, who looked appropriately rebuked. 

“I apologise, aunt. I did give you my word that I would not cause you concern on our travels, and I can offer no excuse. I did not think, in the delight of seeing the groved avenue, and the beautiful grounds. It is as lovely an estate as you promised, aunt.” Said Elizabeth, and thus diverted Mrs Gardiner onto recollections of a childhood spent on the land, and the spreading chestnut trees of Lambton, and church fairs, and evaded any further scrutiny from her aunt on the subject of Mr Darcy, for the duration of the carriage ride and the remainder of that night.

She could not evade herself, unfortunately, and she tossed and turned for several hours with confusion. She had had such convictions that she should avoid Mr Darcy, and his dimples, given the ungentlemanly things he had said to her concerning her family, even as he sought her hand. Such convictions that she should not again put herself in his company alone, and run the risk of compromise. And for what? It had been a very terrible proposal, and she could not put that all down to a fever, between the insults to her family, and the very poorly framed compliments. There had been nothing to recommend his hand, save six or seven fine walks in the woods, which she ought not to have had, if she had followed the dictates of propriety. And prior to that, all he had had displayed to her was proud condescension, when he deigned to bestow it all. How came she to be so relieved to see him alive, and well, if thinned down to his essentials? To wish that she could have taken his arm after dinner, and wished her aunt and uncle a fond farewell, and sat by the fire with him, to watch his eyes flicker with the flames, and his curls bronzed under her hand? It did not make sense at all. It would not do. 

Yet, in the morning, she found herself up before her uncle and aunt, and ensuring that her uncle would be in good time to meet Mr Darcy for their planned attempt at surprising the fish out of their rightful beds, and packaging up his lunch with care. When Mr Darcy’s carriage arrived, she found herself as excited as Lydia at a ball, and almost as giddy with it. It was a simple fishing expedition, nothing more, and yet Mr Gardiner was as delighted as a boy with a new cricket bat and certainly Mr Darcy seemed equally pleased as he whistled his way off, the horses prancing as prettily as the tune.

“Well,” said Mrs Gardiner. “I suggest that we take some tea, and then a stroll about Lambton. Then, I dare say that the excitement of the fish will have abated, and we shall have company. Does that suit you?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Very much. “

The time was too easy to spend in this manner, both the Gardiners and Elizabeth found. Congenial company with moderate success in a trout stream left both men disposed to like each other. Georgiana had all of Lydia’s vivaciousness, charming the Lambton shopkeepers into smiling where they had been merely businesslike, and Jane’s sweetness, as she admired the effect of the sun on the wheat fields, and the dew on the town clock, but without any air of superiority, and was predisposed to assume that if there was a gap in understanding, the fault was hers and ready to own it, from a mistaken time for an appointed meeting at the chestnut tree in Lambton square, to ensure that Georgiana know where the best conkers, and how to choose them, Mr Darcy having neglected this part of her education, to the best time to meet a bid in whist, it not being a card game that the Darcy siblings had favoured, as being difficult to play with only two. She was eager to be taught, and irrepressible in her enthusiasm, and even Mr Darcy was heard to laugh at one of her conkers causing Mr Gardiner’s to concede defeat in an explosive fashion, Georgiana having been careful to select a hard solid young one, and Mr Gardiner not having taken any care at all. 

Eliza was very conscious that Mr Darcy was taking a prodigious degree of care in how he spoke with Mr and Mrs Gardiner. Nothing was beneath him. There was not even a hint of a sneer, no raised eyebrow, as Mr Gardiner spoke concerning the riots in London, and some minor damage suffered to one of the warehouses, and the subsequent impact on supply that it had necessarily caused. There were no pointed questions concerning Mr Gardiner’s background, or his acquaintances of fashion, of which he had no more than one, Elizabeth knew. It appeared that Mr Gardiner was not to be questioned concerning his family, or his social standing, in the way that Miss Bingley would consider a necessary first step towards forming a solid friendship. 

Elizabeth was conscious, too, that Mr Darcy was contriving to ensure that Georgiana was at all times safe. There was not a moment of the day or night of which Elizabeth was aware when Georgiana was entirely alone, outside the Pemberley house proper. If Georgiana was to meet Elizabeth for an excursion about Lambton, then Mr Darcy was sure to be in attendance, there was no solo carriage ride for her. Elizabeth recalled her first carriage ride alone, at the age of fifteen, a short trip to Meryton to meet with her aunt Phillips for tea at her townhouse, and home again, no more than two hours in duration all up. She recalled the sensation vividly, as if all eyes were upon her the instant she drove into Meryton, knowing her to be quite the grown up, as a fifteen year old may regard herself, her face tingling with the wind, and the pride, as if she had accomplished something quite mighty. She had been on guard, expecting a horse to run, or the wheel to break, or a highwayman to come riding, riding, and none of that at all transpired. But then, she had not been an heiress to half a handsome estate, nor had she been previously subject to a vile manipulation of the worst kind, and perhaps her parents would have been more inclined to prudence than permissiveness, had that been so. Although, Elizabeth mused, neither of them seemed the prudent type regardless.

What Elizabeth could not quite discern was whether Mr Darcy continued in his affections towards herself specifically. He was solicitous of her to a fault, it was true, but so too had he been towards Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst at Netherfield, and so was he being towards the Gardiners, and his sister. Perhaps her set down had struck home, so that she had been relegated to a sphere of friends who are gentlewomen, rather than remaining on the pedestal to which he had seemingly elevated her above her friends and family. Which was a good thing, Elizabeth reminded herself. She did not wish to be made to feel ashamed of her family, or that she was above them. She did not seek out his particular regard, she reminded herself also, so that she should not miss it when it seemed to be gone. There had been very good, most sound, reasons for her set down, even if part of it had proved to be wrong, and she had not been wrong to do it, although perhaps a little wrong to do it quite so vehemently, for if he had behaved in a not very gentlemanly like manner in delivering it, she had not quite behaved in a ladylike manner in refusing it. It could not be helped. The best thing, the only thing, to do was to enjoy his pleasant company while she had it, and think no further than the end of the week, when they must start the trip to the next village centre of trade, before finally returning to Longbourn. This did not stop the helpless feeling of fluttering in her stomach when his eyes twinkled in that particular manner, which they did all too often, more than she remembered them doing at Hunsford, and definitely more than they did when at Netherfield.

This particular morning, there had been the now usual collection of Mr Gardiner for a spot of fishing, and a slight exhibition of twinkly eyes by Mr Darcy over the top of his mask at Elizabeth, or at least in her general direction. There had been a pleasant turn about the village with Mrs Gardiner, and now, back in the dark wooded coolness of the Lambton Inn private rooms, there was tea, and lightly buttered toast and all was well with the world.

There was a rap on the door, and Mrs Gardiner laughed at Elizabeth who started eagerly for it. It was not, however, the gentlemen returning. It was Martin, from the Inn, with a letter. Actually, two letters, both for Elizabeth.

“From Jane!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “Two letters! That seems … excessive. Oh, I see. She wrote the direction excessively ill, on both letters.”

Mrs Gardiner laughed. “I shall let you be. The heat has me fatigued and I feel my bed is calling me. Read your letters in peace, my dear.”

And with that, Elizabeth eagerly dove into the letters, without waiting even on her aunt leaving the room. 

The first letter was post marked before the first, and so Elizabeth opened that first.

It appeared that Lydia had in fact been allowed to go to Brighton, with Colonel Forster and his new wife. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Of course, her father had relented. Why would he not? There was no one there to remind him that the militia were a group of frustrated young men with little discipline and many desires and little compunctions about acting upon them, and that Lydia was a young impressionable woman with little experience of the way in which the world could go wrong. Not to mention the ‘virus. 

Then it transpired that Mr Bingley and his sister had returned to Netherfield, and Mrs Bennett had thrown the long promised dinner party, five courses, and Mr Bingley had been most cordial, and here many lines were spent on extolling his virtues, and Miss Bingley had not, and Elizabeth had to read that into the half a line spent on Miss Bingley’s outfits. 

Before she could conclude the letter, or start on the second, there was another knock on the door, and she stood to open the door. 

“Did you catch many fish, uncle?” she called. 

“He did not,” said Mr Darcy. “However, I did. Miss Bennett, on returning to the house, I received a letter this morning from Mr Bingley, and we have some urgent matters to discuss.”

Elizabeth looked at the second. “So urgent that I do not have time to read my correspondence from Jane? I assure you, I am a very fast reader.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, and she told the traitorous butterflies in her stomach to behave, as he took her hand, and pressed it warmly through his glove. “I am afraid it is the worst news. I will save you the burden of hearing it from Jane. Wickham has absconded with Lydia. Mr Bingley has ridden post haste to London, where he has intelligence that they may be found, and Mr Gardiner has informed me that he will do likewise, he will be even now breaking the news to your aunt.”

Elizabeth sat down on the nearest chair. “I should have done more. I knew from you how evil Wickham could be, I should not have trusted so foolishly. It is my fault, and now my sister shall bear the burden of it.”

Darcy shook her hand lightly. “It is my fault, if fault can be ascribed away from that blackguard. I should have had him arrested for his earlier offences, and instead I have allowed him the opportunity to commit more. Let us not waste time on this. I am sure that you are anxious to be gone to Longbourn, and to speed your uncle to London. Let me make your apologies to Georgiana for cutting your visit short, and I assure you, what can be done, will be done.”

Elizabeth looked at his hand in hers, his gloved fingers interlocked with hers, the fabric sliding between them. “Yes, that is very kind of you. Tell her that I am very sorry. I trust that you will shield her from this news, as long as possible?”

He nodded, without speaking, holding her hand lightly. 

“Did Mr Bingley write – has my father gone to London, Mr Darcy?” she asked, looking up at his face, grave now about the mask.

He did not answer, but squeezed her hand again.

“Fitzwilliam?” she asked.

“Elizabeth,” he said. “I am afraid you must prepare yourself. Your father is severely ill. The shock of the news, and his weakness from his earlier bout with the ‘virus, combined? It is unclear, but he has had a collapse, and his breathing is very weak. Mr Bingley has had a doctor attend from London, but if you could make haste, that would be best. May I suggest that you read Jane’s letter as you travel? I am very sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've apparently taken to risking Mr Bennett's life, I figured I would give you some recs of other P&P AUs that are more kind. there are plenty more, but these are suitably distracting. 
> 
> This one is for big Regency fans, and particularly ones of a souped up Mr Bingley - Ecart Mineur. Good stuff https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595444
> 
> This one is for lovers of the South of the USA, and set in modern times - Fixing on the hour- particularly vivid atmospheres - https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325682
> 
> This is modern, with a good deal of sex. Good sex. Games of Love and Cruelty - https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229850
> 
> This is modern, and very upper crust English, and focussed on Mary. I love a good Mary, I'll write you Harmony in C. https://archiveofourown.org/works/475201


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home and back again

“Girls, has anyone seen Papa’s comforter?” called Mrs Bennett. “He is sorely afflicted this morning, and I do not know where it has become of it. Jane, you have not taken it for yourself, have you? Ah, come now girls, Hill is not an army of people to tend to us all! What is to become of us, if Mr Bennett is to die?” Mrs Bennett collapsed onto the chaise lounge, and fanned herself. To Elizabeth’s eye, she appeared to be much reduced, fewer ribbons fluttered about her bonnet, her dress was plain, and she had had to take it in with a band about her middle, and her cheeks, previously rosy and plump, had lost much of their colour – not that Elizabeth would breathe a word to that effect to her mama.

“Jane is at Netherfield today, mama, and Papa has his comforter already, mama,” said Mary. “Please do not catastrophise more than is necessary. If the unhappy event occurs, Mr Collins and I have determined that you will remain here at Longbourn as long as you wish. We are quite comfortable at Hunsford Park, and his living is there, as you know. When you speak ill of my husband, you speak ill of me, and I am your daughter, please recall. I am not so unfilial that I would neglect my duties to you. For as Proverbs says, ‘do not despise your mother when she is old’, and as we hear in Paul’s letters, - “  
Mrs Bennett did not stay to hear more, and neither did Elizabeth, trailing behind her mother, who now resembled a minor hurricane. 

“Kitty, where are you? Oh, no one knows how I suffer, Lizzie, no one, ‘tis such a burden, to be forever worrying after you all. She will be flying off to somewhere or other after redcoats herself, I should not wonder, she and Lydia were always so alike.” This as she flew along the hall of the upper landing, and beat at Kitty’s door.

That young lady calmly opened it, impeccably dressed. “Mama, I am studying my Latin and French, as Lady Catherine bade me. I cannot concentrate while there is such noise in the house. Would you kindly lower your voice? I daresay that the entire countryside will be quite distracted, and it cannot be doing Papa any favours.”

Elizabeth had not quite recognised Kitty at first, on arrival, and thought that perhaps that they had been visited by one of Bingley’s society friends, for some such were said to be staying at Netherfield for respite from the London heat. Her hair was neatly and sensibly styled, with only one curl by her ears, and her bonnets more restrained in their ribbons and furbelows than any she had worn heretofore in her life. Her dresses were new, and more elegantly cut, in a Parisian fashion, Kitty explained, as Lady Catherine had commissioned her French dressmaker, not being able to stand the look of Kitty’s homemade gowns any longer. There was also a reserve about Kitty that was unexpected, and she seemed to stand more solidly on the ground, shoulders back, and with a look of steel to rival Lady Catherine. 

“Oh hang your languages, Kitty. Lady Catherine is not here now to fret you, and you shall do as I say, not her. Your father has need of you, I say, and you should go and tend to him.” Pronounced Mrs Bennett.

Kitty stood her ground. “Had my father need of me, he would have sent for me. I heard no such summons. He has never asked for my presence before, except to chide me for being a flibbertigibbet. I do not think he has need of such diversion at present, and moreover, would like approve of my pursuit of knowledge of my own, it having been his chief occupation over the last many years. As you know, Lady Catherine has promised to take me to court, once I have my languages, and he approves of that activity also. I will remain here.”   
She politely, but firmly, shut the door in her mother’s face. Elizabeth stifled a chuckle.

“Well,” said Mrs Bennett, much offended. “Take some tea and toast to your father, Elizabeth, unless you also think yourself too high and mighty for such an activity.”

“Mama,” said Elizabeth. “Tea is within my capabilities, and I do not think anyone is too high and mighty for some lightly buttered toast. Would you please find yourself a seat and I shall bring you one also. All shall be well. Papa is simply in need of rest, and I dare say, so are you.”

Her mother clasped her hand. “You are such a comfort, Lizzie. I do not know what I shall do if ever you leave us again.”

Elizabeth withheld both her sigh, and her eyeroll, until she found herself in the kitchen alone, Hill being occupied with the family linen, and the lines, and the wind.

As she toasted the bread, she wondered if Mrs Reynolds would ever dream of allowing a Darcy to do so. Would Fitzwilliam scorch his toast, or only lightly brown it, given the ability to control it himself? Would Georgiana delight in poking at the oven fire, in the same way that Lydia did? She could imagine only too well his wrists, bared from his shirt sleeves, rolled up about his elbows, and the way in which he would lick the butter from his fingers, if he thought himself unobserved. A little bit salty, and only too rich, she found their butter after the lighter styles of the North, as she did as she imagined he would, and blushed, and then chid herself for dwelling on that which was beyond the realms of possibility, if ever it had been possible, now Lydia had overturned her particular carriage. For although Mr Darcy had been solicitousness itself, it was very clear, and she should remember it well, that he put his family’s pride and honour above all else, and she could not imagine that he would wish to continue any acquaintance with the Bennetts, even after Mr Bingley and Jane wed, especially given Georgiana’s unhappy past. 

She poured the tea, and arranged the toast, and carried them first to her mother, still fretting to herself but now in the parlour, and accompanied by Mary, who was talking over some complexity of the Hunsford garden, and then to her father.

His study was smaller than she remembered, as was he, arranged in a chaise lounge which her mother and Hill had repurposed, and despite the heat, with a wrap about his shoulders.   
“Ah, Elizabeth and toast, two of my favourite things,” he said, with a smile, although it was a pale image of his usual jovial face. “This will do me a power of good, I am sure. Although I do not deserve it one bit.”

Elizabeth patted his hand. “Eat your toast, and do not talk like that. I do recall a wise father once telling me that we are all in the end responsible for our own destiny, and Lydia always was partial to a redcoat, although I did not think her quite so foolish.”

Her father looked down at her hand. “Elizabeth, you did try to warn me, and you were right to do so, and I should have listened then. I am, after all, a foolish man, and that is an end of it. Now, give me the toast and tea, and tell me of the delights of the North, while I try not to think any further of the South, for there is naught I can do for my Lydia in my bedridden state but play at being a gentleman of leisure like a man with a great estate, and a son as heir, and no daughters to worry about.”

Elizabeth put a smile on her face, although she did not care for her father’s speech, smacking as it did of self pity and not sufficiently of care for his family. Were their positions reversed, she should like to think that at least she should be occupied in penning letters to London folk of their acquaintance, and consulting with Mr Phillips concerning what could be done, or at least with the militia for the return of their soldier, for surely Mr Wickham must be absent without leave, and instead her father lay in his study, seeking for solicitude from his remaining daughters, while lamenting their sex. This, then, was like to be her lot, for she could not imagine that any gentleman would ever now seek her hand, if ever he had been inclined to overlook the paltry dower she brought. Then she reproached herself for falling into the same trap as her father. She had healthy arms, legs, lungs, heart and head enough, and such a one who survived the ‘virus, should not be wishing for too much more who had a roof to their head and bread to feed it. Which she did. Happiness was a fleeting thing, in any case, and she could find joy in the simple things.

She tried that attitude with her father, in recounting the small misadventures that had beset them on the way, the horseflies causing the Gardiners’ horses to twitch, and the tea to spill midjourney and blotch her journal, the birds that she had seen that had left parting gifts about the carriage, the inn beds that seemed designed to test if she were a princess in disguise, the great houses that had ridiculous art on the walls, and servants with more airs than Sir Lucas, and her father was suitably diverted, and Elizabeth found herself pleased that he was so, which was all well and good.

It was not until later that afternoon, while walking with the returned Jane in the gardens, that the melancholy returned, for Jane would talk so of how happy she was, which was of course delightful, and how much she missed Mr Bingley, which of course she was entitled to do, as his fiancée, and of the games that she had played with his friends at Netherfield, with Miss Bingley, and even Miss Charlotte Lucas, who was residing as Miss Bingley’s particular guest, which was all lovely. Elizabeth did mean to be happy for Jane, she truly did. However, she could not help but feel that everything and everyone in Meryton was not as it should be in the circumstances. 

“The latest intelligence I have from Charles,” said Jane, “is that they have divided London between themselves, and are scouring it bit by bit, even as one wipes clean a window. The search is somewhat hampered by the London curfews, for there is at present another wave of the contagion, and they are not meant to be more than 2 miles away from their London residences, though, of course, my Charles is finding his way around those restrictions. He is so clever when he needs to be. Oh, and of course, the other gentlemen are doing likewise. It is most brave and noble of them all to be risking so much for our sister.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “Tell me Jane, when you broke the news to Mr Bingley, did he ever, and I mean no disrespect to him when I ask this, it is merely the concern of a loving sister, did he ever express any – remorse is not quite the right word – did he reproach you for Lydia’s actions? Did he express any regret regarding his proposal to you?”

Jane stopped, and took her arm from Elizabeth’s, and looked full face at her. Elizabeth could not recall Jane ever appearing quite so enraged as she did now, with her lips tightly pursed, against the words that no doubt she wished to say, but did not wish to utter. 

Finally she did speak. “I am ashamed for you, Lizzie, that you would think a gentleman would behave in such a manner. Ours is not a mere flirtation to be cast aside once trouble arises, and no true gentleman would reproach his fiancée for her family, or seek to break an engagement at such a time. He is no fairweather friend to behave in such a fashion, nor is he stranger to the problems that arise in our society in such troubled times as these. Perhaps you had better leave me to walk a while, Elizabeth, for I find myself much troubled by what you have suggested.”

Elizabeth stammered out an apology, and made for the house, and her room, for there was no where in Meryton else that she wished to be.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On peaches: ripeness is everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't quite fathom how I am suddenly so near the end. I would guess two or three more chapters will do it. This one is a short one, but I could not get over the image of Caroline making jam.

“I do not see the charm, Charlotte, in skinning peaches. My hands are sticky, and there is a wasp,” said Caroline, with a swipe at the offending insect. 

“If you wish to have the jam, my dear, and I know you do, you must brave the wasps,” said Charlotte, “besides, think how surprised your brother will be to learn that you have added jam-making to your list of accomplishments. ‘tis not many in London that can boast the same, I warrant. Look at the beautiful colours of them too. If only we could capture that shade in cotton, it would be a masterpiece.”

Elizabeth looked on from the Bennett side of the Netherfield kitchen table, as Charlotte bestowed a sticky kiss on her friend’s cheek. 

“It is almost as becoming as your hair, you know, as light as this summer sun has made it,” said Caroline, and Charlotte blushed in turn.

Jane cleared her throat, and the two ladies looked at her. “I think that is sufficient peaches for the quantity of sugar remaining, we shall have to send for more to Meryton, if you think the gentlemen will wish for more preserves, Caroline.”

Caroline laughed, but Elizabeth was pleased to note that she seemed to actually mean it. “I dare say that with a month remaining to Michelmas, the decision is soon to be yours, my dear, if you wish it. Certainly, have more sugar sent for.“

Jane laughed. “I shall speak to Franklin directly. Lizzie, if you could help me in the study a moment.”

Elizabeth, slightly confused, left Miss Bingley and Miss Lucas, slicing the peaches in the kitchen, and followed her sister out. Once in the study, Jane closed the door firmly, until she was confident that the wooden walls enclosed them, and then laughed heartily, peals, and peals of it.

“Jane?” asked Elizabeth, pressing her back against the door to keep out intruders. 

“Oh, I am sorry, give me a moment, sister,” and Jane went on laughing, stifling her mouth with her hand against the noise, and Elizabeth waited, and waited some more, until Jane had recovered from her laughing fit, and straightened herself out against that which had her doubled up, and composed themselves once more.

“Do I dare ask for an explanation? I have never seen you so amused, Jane. Mistake me not, I am happy that you are happy, but I dearly love to laugh, and I have misplaced your reason, or you have.”

“Oh,” gasped Jane, still recovering. “It is just so perfectly ridiculous that I am to be the lady of this enormous house, and Miss Bingley to be obliged to fall in line with my wishes, rather than the other way around. Who are we, Elizabeth? We are, as Miss Bingley first saw us, perfect little nobodies, daughters of a gentleman with a minor estate, from the backwater of Meryton, and simply because Charles and I are to marry, Miss Bingley’s world will be turned a little on its edge. It is funny. You must own that it is. All the changes of the world over these last twelve months, this is the first one at which I can laugh.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I dare say she is reconciled to it already, with a little assistance from Charlotte. I wonder what Charlotte will make of London, as it is now? I mean, I assume that as they have formed an alliance against the world, as it were, Miss Bingley will wish to show her the sights, such as they are at present. I do wish we knew how the gentlemen are progressing.”

Jane felt in her pocket, which crinkled invitingly. “In Charles’ last, he did mention that they had a lead, a promising one, and he hoped to have more news sooner rather than later. I think that we must resign ourselves to our sister being lost to us now. It has been near a month and a half since they left Brighton. I cannot think of what else can be done.”

At that moment, however, there was a rap at the door, and on opening it, a footman with a message.

“It is from Mary,” said Jane, with brow furrowed. “Lydia is at Longbourn. At Longbourn? I am very confused. Uncle Gardiner is returned, with Lydia, and I do not understand.”

Elizabeth felt her stomach turn over. “I think it best we go immediately. Let us make our excuses to Miss Bingley, and –“

“No,” said Jane. “If she is to be my sister, then she should share in this intelligence with us. I have no desire for any further intrigues.”

Elizabeth pleaded further for discretion, but Jane was adamant. Caroline bore the news as well as might be expected, with her hand held tightly in Charlotte’s, and polite wishes for Lydia’s wellbeing, and then the Bennetts were in carriage and underway, although neither sister spoke. 

Elizabeth’s thoughts were very mixed. She had not quite reconciled herself, as Jane suggested, to the thought that her sister was lost for good and all, but it did not seem real that her sister be recovered either. Her imagination took her to those places that she had wilfully denied it over the last month and a half. Would her sister be a nervous wreck, or as blithe and untroubled as ever, speaking of the good jape that she and Wickham had pulled on them all? Where was Wickham, and why had her uncle not brought him back? Were Lydia and Wickham married, or had he played for a fool, and left her in an interesting condition? From Jane’s face, when Elizabeth dared look at it, from the tightness about her mouth, which still held a steady smile, she was determined to be ready for whichever outcome met them, even while hoping for the best one, but then, Jane had always been the most staid of them all, as one with the most practice with their parents, and responsibility given at too early an age to know to refuse it, and the one most used to cleaning up the chaos left behind by Lydia. 

As they pulled into the drive, Mr Gardiner was just preparing to leave it, and his face was grim. Elizabeth felt her stomach clench anew. “Uncle,” she called. “Will you not stay? It is a long ride back to London.”

Her uncle looked up from adjusting the strapping. “No,” he said. “I think the house is full enough, and Mrs Gardiner has seen precious little of me lately.”

“What news, uncle?” asked Jane, but he shook his head. 

“I think you had best hear this tale from its teller alone. Tend to your horses, and go inside – we shall see you at Michelmas, God willing.” With that, he fastened the last of the buckles, climbed aboard, clicked his horses on, and the carriage began its roll, at a sedate pace, back out the drive. 

Jane’s face was as confused as Elizabeth’s, but neither knew what to say. They made short work of their horses, and the carriage, and entered the house, to bedlam.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lydia comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this chapter contains details on Wickham grooming Lydia, and a reference to rape (although not graphic). Sorry. Please skip on to the next chapter, which will be much happier, and have Bingley and Darcy returning, and possibly also Caroline and Charlotte canoodling. 
> 
> With many people isolated with abusers, like Lydia is here, here's some links - grateful if people let me know more, and I will add them, pages as at 23 August 2020
> 
> Australian support services  
> https://www.rape-dvservices.org.au/  
> https://www.dss.gov.au/women/help-is-here-campaign  
> https://au.reachout.com/tough-times/abuse-and-violence
> 
> UK   
> https://rapecrisis.org.uk/  
> https://www.gov.uk/guidance/domestic-abuse-how-to-get-help
> 
> USA  
> https://www.rainn.org/
> 
> South East Asia - a page with collected details of organisations who support victims of sexual and domestic violence   
> https://www.hotpeachpages.net/asia/index.html

It would not have been inaccurate to say that Elizabeth had never more wished for the quiet of the woods than at the end of that afternoon. It appeared that a brief interrogation had taken place on Lydia’s arrival, on the conclusion of which their father had once more returned to his bed and firmly shut the door, and refused any further interaction for the remainder of the day. Elizabeth had made a mental note to take him tea and toast at nightfall. It also appeared that at the same conclusion of the interrogation, Mrs Bennett had commenced upbraiding her youngest daughter and had not yet quite finished. Jane took it upon herself to take Mrs Bennett to the front parlour, and speak in soothing tones concerning her trousseau, and the running of the household of Netherfield, and all manner of things that had nothing to do with the perfidy of young men or the foolishness of young girls, and the like. 

That had left Kitty, newly furnished with propriety by Lady Catherine and determined to inflict it on others, and Mary, who had always a propensity to sermonise, and Lydia was quite in tears. Elizabeth, who had come to understand only too well how easy it could be to compromise oneself, given the right man and the right opportunity, and had been furnished with information that Lydia had not had concerning Mr Wickham’s lack of scruples, felt that enough sisterly concern had been given voice, and promptly took Lydia by the arm, and marched her out to the orchard with a pail, and directed her to pick any remaining cherries that she found on the trees, while Elizabeth would tackle the plums. While they picked, with Lydia eating as many cherries as she put in her pail, small statements were made, that became bigger, and bigger, as Lydia was allowed to speak, uninterrupted, and Elizabeth tried not to react.

“Brighton was a bit dull, after all. There were no assemblies or balls or any dances at all. No fashion to speak of, and all the girls there called me beastly pale, stupid things.”  
She ate another cherry, licking the red from her lips. 

“Sea bathing was fun, at least, although Mrs Forster did not care for it. She stepped on some seaweed which squelched under foot, and would not go in any more, silly thing. I felt like I was flying, Lizzie, like a bird. You would love it above all things, I dare say. Stepping on the rocks was not quite so much fun. Mrs Forster twisted her ankle, but I did not. She did not want to walk so far after that.”

Elizabeth nodded, silently willing Lydia to continue. There were bees buzzing about the ripe plums above her, and she moved over, to give them space. No wasps, at least, the wine dark scent had not attracted them yet.

“Then because she did not wish to walk out, I could not, for Colonel Forster was away at camp so much. So George – I mean Mr Wickham – suggested that he take me for walks in the evening after the last drill, and the Colonel and Mrs Forster were very grateful, and me too, of course.”

She spat the stone out, indecorously, towards the garden bed, where it stuck on the leaf of a large green lettuce, altogether without charm. 

She laughed, although there did not seem to be the usual Lydia ring to it. “It was the bright spot in my day, Lizzie. The Forsters’ house at the seaside was so small, half the size of Aunt Phillips in town, so that there was not a place for me to sit and do my own things without everyone knowing it. Mrs Forster soon revealed herself to be in an interesting condition, and needed help with every little thing, and could not stand the sight or smell of meat, and the Colonel was very quickly attentive to it all, and asked that I do likewise, which I did of course, but it was a very dull existence, and not half as much fun as home, or Rosings Park, I dare say.”

Elizabeth had many replies that she could have made, but felt it was best to make none of them. “So you would walk by the seaside with Mr Wickham in the evening, with Colonel Forster’s permission.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Lydia, batting away a bee that strayed too close to her bonnet. “or at least, that’s where we walked at first. Oh, do not look at me like that, Lizzie, I know you know better than to walk unaccompanied with a young gentleman, but we cannot all be as wise as you, or the world would be very dull. We walked all about town and George said I was a better sport than any other young girl of his acquaintance, to be walking as entertainment, rather than insisting on being taken to a theatre. So then, I asked if we could, and we did. It was lovely, but the acting was not so good, George said, but he knew the actresses, and he arranged for me to meet them. Oh, Lizzie, it was so exciting! Quite the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. George said I would make a splendid actress, if only I could find my way to London, where I could meet some of his friends who had a theatre there. Do not look at me like that, Lizzie. How was I to know? Papa never spoke of the theatre. Only – I should have known, should I not? All those pretty girls, with dresses that Mama would not have allowed, with everything almost bare? I simply thought they were pretty and worried that I was not as pretty as they were. Or that George would not find me so.”

Elizabeth realised that the plum she was attempting to pick was still green, and left over at twisting at it, and moved to a riper section, where she could see Lydia. Lydia was now stripping a leaf into shreds, and the pail was at her feet, ignored.

“He bought me my own copy of Romeo and Juliet, Lizzie. We read it together. He said was it not funny that I was older than Juliet when she wed Romeo, and that I would make an excellent Juliet, as long as I could play it in the next year, before I grew too old for the role.” 

Elizabeth sickly wondered if this was the same approach that he had used with Georgiana, or any other young lady, and waited for Lydia to continue. 

“We read the plays over, and over. I have Juliet’s part quite perfect, Lizzie, but do not ask me to recite it, for I do not think I can bear to hear it ever again. He said – he said - .”

Elizabeth did not wait further to hear what Mr Wickham had said, feeling that action would speak louder than words. Her sister felt smaller in her arms than she had remembered her, and was quite tear drenched, by the time she was released.

“Do you need a physician, Lydia? Did he hurt you?”

Lydia ignored the questions. “He said, that if I went with him to London, he would arrange for me an audition. He would buy me the clothes to wear, and find us a nice place to stay, and he would marry me, as soon as he had the money, and a licence. Only he had no money, because of Mr Darcy, and I said I did not care about the money, as long as we were together, and I was such a fool, Lizzie. I wager there has never been a bigger fool in the world than me. You would never be such a fool for a man, I am sure.” She blew her nose with great vigour into her handkerchief and wedged it back into her pocket, and resumed her tale.

“It seemed so romantic, like something out of the plays themselves. I was to meet him on the corner, and bring only a small case of clothes, and make up my bed with pillows in case of any observant servant in the middle of the night. In the carriage, after he picked me up, he kissed me, and I was so happy I thought I would die. I had never been in a carriage at night, Lizzie, and we went so fast! The stars above were dancing, and it was so warm and nice and pleasant, and then it was not. The inn at which we stayed had only the one bed, and I said I would sleep on the floor, and he said I was a goose, and we were as good as man and wife, and I do not wish to speak of the rest, Lizzie. I determined that I would find Aunt Gardiner when we reached London, and I would have. The rooms he had for us were above a theatre, so we could hear all the sounds of it, and people would bring us food, except he never left the rooms, and he said I should not either, to keep me safe from the ‘virus. He did not even pretend to introduce me to the theatre manager, I never even stepped foot on the stage. I should not have cared for the risk to have my freedom, Lizzie, even if I had not had the ‘virus before, but he kept the door locked, and the windows besides, and there was no way in which I could. Then, there was one night, when he left the door to our room unlocked, and I do not know how, but my uncle was there, and the others, and I exclaimed, as anyone might do, and Mr Wickham cursed so, words that I had no idea what he meant, and he had the window unlocked before I knew it, and out the window he went. Then there was the most awful scream, worse even than the geese when the dog runs at them, and an almighty thump, and I knew I was free, even before Mr Bingley told me he was dead. I swear, Lizzie, had I known what he wanted, I should never have walked out with him. The only blessing is that I know for certain that although he had what he wanted of me, I am not in the same position as Mrs Forster. It is all so awful, Lizzie, I do not know how ever I am to be free of it.”

Lizzie took a deep breath, and then another, holding Lydia’s head to her shoulder. “It is Mr Wickham’s fault, and he is paying for it even now, no doubt. You may think that I too am an awful person, but I am honestly glad he is dead. It is my fault for not taking better care of my Lydia. I shall speak to our parents directly they are sensible enough to speak to. Now blow your nose,” and Lydia did so, as if she were the five year old to Elizabeth’s eleven again, “and eat this nice plum,” which Lydia took dubiously, looking at the speckles on the purple skin askance. “Jane and I shall cosset you as we did when you were small and scraped your knee, until you are ready to face the world again. Meryton only knows that you were gone to the seaside. We shall write to Colonel Forster that you are with your family again, and that we understand Mr Wickham met an unfortunate end in London. That is all anyone needs to know, and any one who asks for more is simply beneath any society I or you should wish to keep. How does that sound?”

Lydia sniffed her yes into Elizabeth’s shoulder, on which she also appeared to wipe her nose. Elizabeth mentally shrugged. The rest of her gown was also somewhat sticky with peach and plum juice, it did not signify. 

“Lightly buttered toast and tea?” asked Elizabeth. Lydia took her arm as they went in, and Elizabeth fed and cosseted her as promised. Then she put Lydia to bed, and opened the window, and left the door as unlocked and open as could be. Then she called a family meeting, and spoke most sternly to everyone, calling upon her best recollections of Lady Catherine’s speaking manner for Kitty, and as many parts of the New Testament as pertained to casting out the log from one’s own eye, and leaving stones unthrown, as she could muster, for Mary, and leaning hard upon the heartstrings for her mother, and only refrained once they were all in tears. Jane determined that she would deliver the news, and extract promises from Miss Bingley and Miss Lucas in the morning, and trust to Charles’ sensibilities as a future brother in law to Lydia to keep the news as close lipped as could be. Elizabeth steeled herself, and she and Jane woke their father. That interview was even less pleasant, but after sharing such details as Elizabeth felt appropriate, he was sufficiently enraged on his daughter’s behalf to overlook the anger he had first felt at the situation having arisen at all. Tomorrow should be a new day for Lydia, with no one casting at her feet the mistakes that Wickham had made.


	37. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A much looked for respite from care is what August brings, along with English summer heat, and Mrs Bennett ensures that Jane understands what to expect from her marriage bed. In other words, this is a very silly chapter, and can be skipped if you do not go in for that kind of thing.

It had, Elizabeth supposed, been too much to ask that the Bennett family could live a month complete in harmony. It had been intended by Mrs Bennett, with the approval of her two eldest, that the month of August should be allowed to bleed altogether into September, the preparations for the long longed for wedding to be completed, and the sisters Bennett enjoy one final moment of girlhood together, with all five under the one roof, afternoons of dandelion picking and cordial making, and evenings of lawn croquet and perhaps a little punch, and nights of secret and story telling, before Mr Bingley should come and claim Jane, and Mary return to her life as a Collins, and Kitty depart for London and all that the courts could offer during a coronavirus epidemic, and Elizabeth and Lydia form a new life as sisters two of Longbourn, rather than sisters five. It was not to be.

The first hiccup came in the person of Mr Collins. It being a season of harvest busy-ness at Hunsford, his congregation were only too willing to agree to his proposal that a holiday month be declared, and he be released to once again enjoy the connubial bliss that he had come to enjoy with his wife, and services resume the weekend after Michelmas. The guest room being reserved for the Gardiners, a reshuffle of all the bedrooms of the sisters was then required, with Jane and Elizabeth surrendering their room to the Collins, and moving to the nursery in the attic. It was as well that Jane and Elizabeth had reconciled earlier in the summer, for there was no room for disagreement under the tony sloped roof, and with only one gabled window to allow heat to escape, if tempers had still been frayed, now that Jane was discovered to have one after all, they should have conflagrated. Mr Collins and Mrs Collins were encouraged to take the opportunity to enjoy the orchards and walks about Longbourn, but seemed to have determined to stay inside, and in their bedroom, for as much of the duration as was possible, and sisterly discretion, knowing that the walls were indeed much too thin for the noises that emanated, required many long walks to be taken by the remainder.

Hiccup number two was that Kitty had returned from Rosings Park with many more requirements relating to her wardrobe than with which she had departed. Her dresses now consumed not only that part of her cupboards that had required them previously, but also those belonging to Lydia, and Lydia was not inclined to surrender that ground. Nor was Lydia, although her spirits had been dampened, inclined to happiness that her sister had been blessed with sartorial excellence, and had already ripped the seams of one gown, to discover that Kitty had become possessed with a slimmer figure than her own, and she could no longer with impunity claim her clothing. Moreover, Mr Bennett was not inclined to rise from his sick bed to recut the family coffers to enable Lydia to commission more dresses, even if the village of Meryton had possessed a French dressmaker, which it did not, and Mrs Bennett was loudly and vehemently of the view that Lydia was not entitled to such condescension, even if he had.

Hiccup number three was that the Gardiners had arrived, with their small ones, and had to be housed all in the guest room that previously had been large enough only for one happy couple, let alone a happy couple that had been blessed with several energetic and growing children. Jane could not reasonably be expected to occupy the children and prepare for her coming nuptials, and hence the entire Bennett family had learnt to expect constant interruption, requests to “watch me do”, tears before bedtime, a decimated flower bed, and a total lack of privacy. Lydia had declined to participate, as she had done on their last visit, in their games of hide and go seek, but had instead offered to make flower crowns for winners, and bought some precious peace from the bargain, for them all.   
In short, therefore, Longbourn was a hive of industry, and before anyone knew it, August was at a close, and September upon them, without any cessation. Mr Bingley, and his guests, were to arrive on the 1st, and Mr Bingley had insisted that they then observe two weeks of separation, to ensure with certainty that there should be no contagion brought with them, although it was unclear at least to Mrs Bennett that that this was still necessary, given the majority of Meryton had already been inflicted with the ‘virus. However, Jane had spoken softly, yet firmly, and plied her with lightly buttered toast and tea until she conceded, although it had resulted in several rounds of angry baking, and Hill had had to send for more sugar to the village as a result.

There had been one evening of excruciating awkwardness, where Mrs Bennett had taken all the Bennett sisters for an evening walk, and a discussion concerning marital duties. This had been made more tortuous by the interjections by Mrs Collins, as to the uses of olive oil, and who insisted on drawing diagrams to illustrate finer technicalities, and Lydia, who put her fingers in her ears, and sang rude versions of the songs that were currently favoured by the Gardiner children. 

At dinner, Mr Collins had been very attentive to Mrs Collins, and although complimenting Hills’ mashed potatoes, had called Mrs Collins roasted potatoes incomparable, much to the delight of the two small Gardiners, who repeated the word potato until they were put to bed. Jane ate her dinner in silence, with frequent blushes, and called little Johnny Susan when she asked the little Gardiners if they should care for more green beans, and called Susan Johnny when passing her the carrots, and spilt the gravy boat, and was twitted by her mother. In bed, she tossed and turned until Elizabeth asked her to refrain.

“Is it foolish,” said Jane, “to be nervous? Mary has crossed the threshold, as it were, and seems well enough, and we shall not speak of poor Lydia. My mother liked it well enough that there are five sisters Bennett, at least. I am not afraid, exactly. It just seems so perfectly ridiculous a thing to do. Do you not think, Lizzie? Or am I being foolish. I am being foolish, I know.”

Elizabeth stared at the ceiling, and nudged her sheets down with a toe, and wished for a cool breeze. She remembered the way in which the leaves had stirred in the woods, and the way in which Mr Darcy’s white shirt had clung, wet, and perhaps had been left unbuttoned a trifle more than propriety required. The curve of his back, at its base. The way in which his hair had curled in the heat, as he shook himself dry from his trout stream misadventure, and thrown his head back and laughed at himself. The darkness of his eyes, as he’d met hers in the Pemberley woods. She wished that the window would open wider, to let more of what breeze there was in, for she was too flushed herself to sleep. 

“I expect that you and Charles will find your way, Mary certainly seems to have. It is natural, I find, to be nervous about things one has not tried before. I have no information on this to impart, as you know. I certainly know how it feels to be ridiculous, and I wager that it will help to be ridiculous alone with the person you love best in the world. Not that I would know about that either,” Elizabeth sighed, and felt the heat flush her cheeks. 

“I never – Lizzie, did you care for Mr Wickham? I mean, before we knew of his perfidy. I thought perhaps you had a tender feeling for him,” Jane addressed her question to the room, in a lowered voice.

“Oh, he certainly was charming enough, and he may have fooled me for a while, but it was a very short while,” said Elizabeth, in the same hushed tone. “But this does not matter. It is most definitely in the past. We are speaking of you, and reassurances. I think that as long as you find that your pulse races when you are together, or at the thought of him, or while you read his letter for the tenth, or fiftieth time, you will have as decent a chance as any woman at finding your way through it. Do not tell me that it does not, for I wager you have blushed at least twenty times in the course of the last twenty minutes at the thought of it, and it is as much excitement as nerves that keeps you from sleep. He will be at Netherfield tomorrow, and then there are but two weeks between you and the marriage bed, which is more than enough time to take more than a few lessons from Mary and her diagrams, if you wish it. Personally, I think I should not.”

Jane laughed, a startled outburst, which provoked calls for hush from Lydia and Kitty’s room, and then from the Bennetts, although the Collins and Gardiners were silent.

After a little while, Jane whispered again. “I cannot deny that the thought of seeing Charles again, of being his wife, makes my pulse race, and I do not wish it not to do so. I remember the fever, and the aches, of the ‘virus, and how close we came, Lizzie. I do. I think it is as much that as anything else which spurs me on. Life is so precarious, it seems, that it should be lived. I should not let fear stop me from doing the things that I wish to do, and what I wish to do is marry Charles. And I shall. I feel so happy at the thought of it, that the fear is quite overshadowed. It is just – it seems so silly. There.”

Elizabeth giggled into her hands. “I am sorry. I just thought about Mr Collins, and his potatoes. I dare say there are many things I do not wish to ask Mary concerning her diagrams. There are a great many things that I do think are silly, and yet we do them every day. Dancing, take that for a physical activity. Why is it fun to clasp hands, and walk about on the floor, to the sounds of a horse hair scraped across some sheep guts? I do not know, but it is. I dare say that this will be much the same, and you will recall that you were quite the best at learning the steps, when we were young. Courage, Jane! You and Charles will have a fine time being ridiculous together, and if that does not comfort you, at least take solace in the fact that about the globe, I dare say there will be at least one other couple making themselves ridiculous at the exact same time, if not the same manner, as your good selves. ”

Jane laughed, forgetting to be quiet, and Lydia called again for hush. After a moment, she spoke again, quietly. “I am sorry, Lizzie, but Charles wrote to say that he brings Mr Darcy with him to stand up at our wedding. Shall you be able to face him? Or shall I ask Charles if we can find another solution. If you do not wish it, I am sure I can ask Charles. Although I would prefer not, since Mr Darcy is his oldest friend, and Charles is so grateful that he has now recovered from the virus.”

Elizabeth was grateful that the dark of the room covered now her flushed cheeks. She could not, did not speak for a minute. In truth, she had not known what to think in the weeks after the dust of Lambton had left the wheels of the Gardiners’ carriage. Mr Darcy had given no commitments, beyond protecting his sister as much as was possible from the dreadful news of Lydia’s abduction, and had not written, although it would not have been proper, she owned on reflection, as much as she had read over and over his earlier correspondence. And now, he was to be suddenly so close! She kicked at her sheets again, and rearranged her nightgown to leave her legs as bare as was decent, the better to cool herself. There was no use in allowing herself to feel pleasure at the thought, for they would be, in Meryton, as distant as before. Her mother would be as she always was, there was no change to be hoped for there, and she would be only more exciteable at the wedding, which could not be congenial for Mr Darcy. Then, it would only be natural for him to think of his own younger sister, when he looked on Lydia, and knowing of Mr Wickham’s evil, and what must surely have befallen her, and such could not be pleasant for him to think of, when it could have so easily have happened to his sister, as to hers. Her father had not improved in behaviour either, even now that he had recovered from his shock. He would insist on joking that Mr Collins was measuring up rooms, even as his wife had left off the jibe. Then he would joke that Jane would needs take Lydia in, and under Miss Bingley’s wing, whenever Lydia expressed delight at a bonnet, or a dress, and Lydia had lost quite any sense of humour about it. He would even, when he had never before, tease at Elizabeth herself, that all her sisters were leaving her behind, and she should look forward to a long and happy life looking after her mother. Even if Mr Darcy sought out her company for a pleasant walk about Netherfield, or Longbourn, something, someone, somehow would go wrong, it was the pattern that she should have learnt to expect. No, she should not expect anything, but resolve only to be pleasant towards him, as he would be towards her.

“I daresay I can bear it, if he can,” she said aloud, and Jane whispered a thank you between the beds. Within minutes, Jane tossed and turned no more, and faintly snored, and now it was Elizabeth who could not sleep.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane, sweetest of all the Bennetts, is wed.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the vicar, and Charles beamed so widely at Jane that Elizabeth was concerned for his cheeks. Mrs Bennett sighed, and the bells rang. 

The church was sparsely full, with empty rows separating wedding guests, and wedding guests enjoined to sit only with those in their immediate family. The Meryton church had never been a large building, and this had therefore resulted in the church becoming full once those currently under the Longbourn and Netherfield rooves having taken their places, such that the usual population of Meryton, who had long awaited their opportunity to see Meryton’s most deserving daughter change her status from daughter to wife, and to applaud the man who had fashioned so many protective garments for the south of England, were obliged to wait their opportunity outside. But there, Mr Bingley had been ahead of them, and had assembled certain dividers, based on, it was understood, his mills, so that only one person was able to stand in each six feet, and tailored masks, with embroidered initials neatly in the corner to commemorate the wedding, and so there was a long avenue of navy blue masked persons in a row, on either side, for quite the distance into the lane alongside the church, where the Bingley carriage awaited them. It was pleasant to see the faces of the Meryton folk, after so long apart, and to see all so clearly delighted, eyes smiling at Jane and Mr Bingley, and by extension, all of the Bennetts, and the wedding party, and Elizabeth felt warm at the smiles that must have been present beneath the masks, even though not aimed directly at her. 

The afternoon sun hit Jane’s hair like a halo, Elizabeth mused, watching the Bingleys ahead, as she helped her mother navigate the path out of the church, her father on Lydia’s arm, both of whom were focussed on avoiding any discussion with neighbours and friends, and had found a path through by pretending to discuss crops, a topic which Elizabeth knew for a certainty to be uninteresting to her youngest sister, but which had the virtue of being one that all of Meryton would concede was right and appropriate at this time of year. She could hear the Gardiner children, firmly held in hand by their parents, and behind them, the Collins. 

Behind them, Lady Catherine must be on Mr Darcy’s arm, although she was not game to turn to see. There had been quite the stir when Lady Catherine’s carriage arrived, although Kitty had not appeared at all surprised. Sir Lucas had made a point of bowing unusually deeply, at which Lady Catherine had sniffed, and turned directly to walk to Kitty, who made a very pretty curtesy, which met with a better response, not missed by the Meryton populace. Neither did Elizabeth miss that Kitty’s dress was tailored in the same style as Lady Catherine’s, and in a slightly lighter shade of violet, such that had one not known better, one might have supposed them to be mother and daughter. Certainly, she did not think that her own mother had failed to remark it. 

The Bennett carriage was much less full than when it had made its last return from church. Mary and Mr Collins had decamped to their own two seater, and Jane was now of course with Mr Bingley, and Kitty was travelling the short distance with Lady Catherine, who did not consider it necessary to quarantine, given she had made all else around her do it assiduously such that the risk that she had caught it was vanishingly small. This left Lydia and Elizabeth to bear the full brunt of their parents conversation, which was chiefly carried on by their mother.

“Well,” said she, “I thought this day would never come. There always seemed to be some reason or other that would prevent it! And now, Jane is Mrs Bingley, and all shall be well for her. He is such a sensible, kind hearted sort of man, and of course, so very rich. It is a pity he does not have a brother for you, Elizabeth, and only that very superior friend of his, Mr Darcy, to stand up with him, who snubbed you so at last year’s assembly. He gives himself such airs, for no reason I can discern, he is no better than his friend, I am sure.”

Elizabeth coloured under her mask. She could not quite collect herself as to the best way in which to correct her mother, and it was insupportable that she continue to speak in this manner, for surely she would contrive a way to do so to his face. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, in his favour, but was forestalled, as they had arrived at Netherfield for the wedding tea. She would simply have to fashion a way to prevent the two from meeting. Simple.

Rather, it should have been simple, but she reckoned without Lydia. Directly upon being formally welcomed to Netherfield by the new Mrs Bingley, Lydia dragged their party through the entrance hall, through the reception area, into the library, and to Mr Darcy’s side, whereupon, in defiance of both COVID and propriety, she seized him in a tight bear hug, and began to cry, quite soaking her mask through. Elizabeth was exceedingly confused, as the last that she had heard Lydia mention Mr Darcy, it was in scathing tones, in support of Mr Wickham’s claims to the late Mr Darcy’s estate, but not as confused as the remainder of the Bennetts. 

“Lydia Bennett, unhand Mr Darcy immediately! What is the meaning of this?” sputtered her father

“Mr Darcy!” said her mother, “I do apologise. I do not know what has come over Lydia. Stop it, you silly girl!” 

But Lydia did not unhand Mr Darcy, or cease her sniffling into his shoulder, and Mr Darcy did not release her, rubbing small circles into her back, in the same manner Elizabeth was certain she had seen him adopt when reassuring the Pemberly hounds, and she sought to meet his eyes over Lydia’s shoulder, to determine whether he required assistance, but his focus was on her youngest sister. 

At length, Lydia released him, but held tight to one of his hands, pressing it firmly in her gloved ones. 

“Thank you so very much, Mr Darcy. I cannot say how grateful I am. When I saw your face burst through that door, I knew I should be safe. I am so sorry for ever saying anything bad about you ever, but I truly did not know how George lied. What kind of a man he was. I am so very sorry, and I swear to you, I shall never behave so, ever again.” 

Mr Darcy laughed, but Elizabeth did not detect any humour in it. “Miss Bennett, as I have said to you before, the only thanks I need is that you can sleep at night. Mrs Bennett, Mr Bennett, it is a pleasure to see you, and I trust that you are well.”

Mr Bennett recovered first. “Sir, we had not understood that you were involved in my daughter’s recovery. I am deeply grateful, sir, for your pains. If you would call upon us tomorrow, perhaps, we could discuss it further, but for my daughters’ sake, I propose we speak no more of it today. Again, my gratitude.”

Mr Darcy bowed, disengaged his hand from Lydia’s, and absented himself, without looking at Elizabeth. Her parents and Lydia spoke in animated tones, but she did not, could not hear a word, for the drumming in her ears. He had not spoken to her. He had not looked at her. He had, as was right and proper, focussed on Lydia, who he seemed to have been instrumental in rescuing, and spoken kindly to her parents. But he had not engaged with her. 

She made her apologies to her parents, who were still listening to Lydia explain herself and did not notice. She recalled still the path to the gardens, and made for the most direct route, in search of fresh air. Perhaps she should not have assumed that the smaller drawing room was unoccupied, as it was very decidedly so, and Charlotte and Caroline sprung apart with guilty expressions. 

“Elizabeth,” said Charlotte, a trifle out of breath, as Caroline patted at her hair. “I am delighted to see you. My felicitations on your sister’s wedding, she did look marvellous. We are so looking forward to her formally assuming the reins of the family, are we not, Caroline?”

Caroline pushed a hairpin into place, and smiled. Elizabeth did not think she had ever seen Caroline smile properly like this before. It transpired that she had teeth. She seemed almost pleasant when she smiled. “I certainly am. It has been most informative a summer, but I will be the first now to admit that running a household in the country is quite a different exercise to that in the city, and the latter is more to my style than the former. I shall be very glad to let your sister assume the care of Netherfield, almost as glad as I dare say she is to take it. Now, is there something we can assist you with, Miss Bennett? We shall be with the party shortly. Charlotte was just assisting me with my hair.”

Elizabeth wished she was still wearing her mask, but she held it in her hand, having removed it on departing the library, having discovered that Lydia was not the only one to have shed a tear, and wet her protective. She bit her lip, the better to not ask any questions. 

“I must apologise, I did not intend to intrude on your solitude. I found myself in want of some fresh air, and was not thinking.”

Caroline laughed, and again, Elizabeth marvelled, for it appeared more unaffected and carefree than any other laugh she had heard Caroline utter in the entire duration of their acquaintance. “I dare say that Netherfield is like now to be as second a home to you as it is to me, since we are now sisters, and you have no prospect of leaving Longbourn that I know of, any more than I have of leaving Netherfield. You have no need of apology with me, Elizabeth, If I may call you such.”

Elizabeth worried at her lip again. This was no way to get on. 

“Please, do call me Elizabeth.” She made a short bob of a courtesy, and made to leave.

“And since we are sisters, I will vouchsafe you this warning, and I hope you take it in the spirit that it is intended. While I know, and Charlotte of course, of the wrongdoing of Mr Wickham, and his actions towards your sister, we have sought to keep the news as closed as possible, and Lady C will not hear of it from us, but she needs to check her behaviour. If it would assist, since your parents seem to have trouble doing so, perhaps she could be sent to reside at Netherfield, with us. We would be very glad to assist.”

Elizabeth felt her breath leave her lungs. She bit at the inside of her cheek. However, words would out. “No offence is taken where none is intended, and I will ask Lydia whether such would be helpful to her. For the present, however, she is doing well at home.” Again, she made to leave.

Caroline spoke again. “One final word, Elizabeth. Mr Darcy seems much pre-occupied at present. I know that that you were wont to tease at him when last you were at Netherfield, but I would caution you against it today. If you had any expectations in that quarter, I suggest you put an end to them, as Charles says his affections are much engaged already, and as you know, he has a temper, and a tongue to go with it. Call it a sisterly warning.”

Elizabeth did not turn. “I assure you, Caroline, I have no expectations whatsoever, and I am not inclined to tease at Mr Darcy today. Thank you, I am sure.”

Before she let the door shut firmly behind her, she could hear Charlotte remonstrate with Caroline for her manners, and bit at her lip again. She wished once more for a dry mask, but she had not brought a spare, and hers was still wet. She dried some angry tears as best she could with the hem of her dress, which was not, thank you Caroline, muddy this time. Then she opened the door to the larger drawing room, in search of the large windows that opened into the rear walled garden, and fresh air, and escape. She would own, even if only to herself, that she did hope to happen upon Mr Darcy, should he be doing likewise, to at least thank him for his part in her sister’s delivery, to add to the other thanks which she felt she owed him for Jane’s happiness, and for being good enough to forgive her earlier behaviour towards him.

However, in that room, she found Lady Catherine, standing over Kitty seated at the pianoforte, and it did seem that Kitty’s practice had quite reaped a harvest, as Lady Catherine was smiling above her mask. In the corner, Mr Hurst was, as ever, sipping at a glass of claret, and idly playing a hand of patience out, with some degree of concentration, while Mrs Hurst appeared to be at least paying a modicum of attention to the music, as she was lightly tapping a decorative fan on her gold embossed gown, and raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth for entering the room and disturbing the player’s concentration, as Kitty drew to a conclusion with slightly less finesse. 

“Who is it? Who is here?” asked Lady Catherine, before she turned to find out the answer for herself.

Elizabeth curtseyed, again. “How pleasant it is to see you again, Lady Catherine. I can see that you are all much occupied, so I will leave you to my sister, and her music. Good afternoon.”

“Do not be quite so precipitous, young lady, I have not given you leave to depart. Please, take a seat. Kitty, thank you, enough for now. Practice there at bar 85 onwards, more attention to the dynamics, there needs be some contrast in your brilliance, now that you have achieved it. Miss Elizabeth, I hear that you have visited at Pemberley. Tell me, how did you like it?”

Elizabeth straightened her gown out, and took care to maintain a straight face, of the kind that she had practiced playing many hands of whist with her sisters, on one of the drawing room’s less treacherous loveseats, although she did have to brace herself for fear of slipping off the bright orange silk with which Caroline had replaced its surface. 

“I liked it very much, Lady Catherine. Its grounds are very similar to Rosings Park, in their variety. The house is incomparable, I found.”

Lady Catherine sniffed. “I, of course, prefer Rosings Park, but then that is because it is mine, and I have had full rein of expression upon it. I do not think my nephew has yet done enough to it. Perhaps a little renovation may be in order. Yes, now I think of it, I shall speak to him concerning the east wing, I have a builder in mind.”

“I pray you, Lady Catherine, do not. I like it just as it is.” Elizabeth tried not to display any reaction on her face, but Lady Catherine’s eyebrows told her that she had failed. Mr Darcy, for it was he who spoke, walked further into the room. “However, we have need of a builder for some of our tenants, if you have persons in need of employment. There is always something that needs to be done, I find. But the main house is, as Miss Bennett says, incomparable, just as it is.”

Lady Catherine clicked her teeth together. “I dare say that there is no remonstrating with you on the topic, Fitzwilliam, for once you have made your mind up, if memory serves, there is naught to be done, and I do not have time to waste. Sit down, do. I dislike craning my neck in such a manner.”

Without quite understanding what was occurring, Elizabeth found that despite the plethora of other, more comfortable options in the room, she was no longer alone on her slippery seat. 

“That is better. Now, Kitty, some lighter music please, and we shall all sit and listen. Something festive, in honour of the Bingleys, I think.”

Kitty furrowed her brow, and then began to play, a light and delicate tune, as requested, and Lady Catherine turned back to the piano, tapping her fingers on her leg in time.

She could feel the fabric of the sofa bending towards her companion. She could almost feel the heat from his hand, not a foot away from hers, resting on her lap. It was foolish to not look and smile on him, and it would surely be discourteous not to, and Miss Bingley could not chide her for teasing for so small, so trivial an action, not when he had seated himself there under his own volition. So she turned, but the smile was not quite achieved. Mr Darcy was looking at her, with an earnest intensity above his mask that made her recall the fragment of Catullus that she had happened upon in her father’s library, which she had puzzled out with her poor Latin, and Sappho with her worse Greek, a thrumming in her ears, and a fire under her skin, and a tongue that would no longer speak, and all she could do was return it, and hope to be understood.

The music must have finished, for Lady Catherine was again explaining something to Kitty, but Elizabeth would have been hard pressed to detail any of the points that Lady Catherine was making, for Mr  
Darcy had raised an eyebrow at her, and appeared to be smiling under the mask, and she knew herself to be lost. 

Lady Catherine’s voice appeared to be much closer. “I said, Darcy, I desire to know when tea will be served, and I asked you to go and ascertain as much.”

Mr Darcy looked at Lady Catherine, and rose. Unthinking, Elizabeth put her hands to the seat, to push up and do likewise, to meet Lady Catherine’s stern gaze. “I require you, Miss Bennett, to fetch for me your parents, for there is much to discuss, before I present Kitty at court. Mr Hurst, I believe you play whist? You may oblige me with a game while we wait. No delay, please, time waits on no man and certainly not on me, at my age.” She tapped Mr Darcy’s arm with her fan, and he departed, and there was naught Elizabeth could do but do Lady Catherine’s bidding herself.

Her parents were holding court in the ballroom, fortified with punch, although neither seemed unduly merry, and as best Elizabeth could tell, her mother was not holding forth on her favourite topic of imagined marriage prospects for her remaining daughters and was instead talking calmly about the harvest, and her hopes that the local economy would revive, now that the second wave seemed to be over. She had hoped, on delivery up of them to Lady Catherine, to be rewarded with another sighting of Mr Darcy, perhaps even another thrilling opportunity to sit on the same sofa, but it was not so, Mr Darcy was still on his errand.

Afternoon tea was served, much to the delight of all, with a groaning board of every tea cake that Mrs Bennett had been able to think of and either bake herself or inveigle Hill into doing so, honey cakes, and lemon tarts, and cold poached salmon, and cucumber sandwiches, and despite the orderly queue upon which Mr Bingley insisted, to ensure that if any present were, despite all precautions, infected, they should not spread it further at his wedding feast. There was a speech or two by Mr Bingley, and by Mr Bennett, neither of which were in any way unique for their roles as groom and father of the bride, a great many pleasant sentiments of the sort have been said at such an occasion, and such were said here. Jane blushed, and cried in equal amounts, as did Mrs Bennett, and all in all, a jolly wedding party was had, but because Mr Darcy was seated, undoubtedly with the kindest of intentions by Jane, with the Bingley sisters, and Elizabeth was seated with her own, there was no opportunity for Elizabeth to even speak with him briefly, let alone any privacy in which to thank him, and when Mrs Bennett summonsed her to the carriage and to farewell Jane, which she did with a tight hug, and a kiss and a reminder to be courageous and keep her good humour even if it did prove to be ridiculous, he was nowhere to be found. In defiance of her bittersweet humour, the sunset was brilliant, glowing red, and yellow orange tipped clouds, billowing up like delicious pillows on which to be ridiculous with a suitable partner, who could laugh at himself, even while kissing one down into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the Catullus  
> https://www.literarymatters.org/1-1-catullus-51/
> 
> And here's a discussion of Catullus' translation of Sappho  
> https://theimaginativeconservative.org/2017/01/catullus-sappho-divine-ecstasy-love-christopher-morrissey.html
> 
> If it please you, imagine also Caroline reciting the Sappho to Charlotte #loveislove
> 
> Yes, i stole a line from Bridget Jones. Sorry.
> 
> Darcy was meant to stay completely away from Elizabeth in this chapter, because #dramatictension but he wouldn't. I don't think I can keep him away much longer though... I'd say there's two chapters left in this - but things might resolve themselves in one. 
> 
> Thanks all for sticking with this and especially thank you for leaving your comments and kudoes, it's been a bright spot in my days. I had thought that lockdowns and COVID might have wrapped up by now, but it doesn't seem to be the case, and where it has been the case, second waves have popped up when we thought we were safe. Be safe, and look after yourselves, and each other.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our happy couple are, finally, happy

The sun should not be up this early, but then again, neither should she. The quiet of the room, without the little light sighs and rustling of Jane’s night time murmuring should have been soothing, but it was not. Everyone was happy, well and safe, and yet she could not sleep. 

The kitchen fire was gently slumbering, red warm coals enough to toast her bread, which she managed only to a very light level of brownness, before Hill emerged, rubbing her eyes, and shaking her head, and shooing Elizabeth out with quiet reproach, to the effect that it was too early for the morning after the night before, and bed was a very pleasant place to be, if you were not paid for a job to be done, and Elizabeth found herself outside, in the slight chill of the morning, with her very lightly buttered toast, and the sunlight touching the tips of the fields. 

She pulled on her boots, and wrapped her coat against the crispness of the air, and bit into her toast, showering crumbs across the drive. Although it was still, as ever, excellent, it was missing the burnt edges that gave contrast, and the butter was slightly too light and patchy, and when she had finished it, it was not enough, she was still hungry. But the door was shut, and the house was for the main, asleep, there was no going back in. She brushed her hands down her legs, and shook her coat off. A walk it was, and she would have to hope that her stomach would be sufficiently distracted by the exercise. She made for the hills, and the views down to Meryton village, and the hope of the warmth of the sun. The Bennetts had allowed wild apples trees to grow where they would, spread by the birds, and the children over the years, and it amused Elizabeth briefly to imagine her father, as a boy, doing as she was, and stealing one slightly shy of ripeness on one side, and blooming with red on the other, absenting himself as ever from his duties and making a breakfast for himself with a book on the summit, as she was intending to do. She took a second one, for the way back.

There was a rock on the summit which she knew well, under a gnarled tree. When she was younger, she had used to put one foot on the rock, and the other in the crook of the branch, and vault up to the next, and sit perched there for hours, avoiding her sisters, her mother and father, and all of Meryton, with a book and an apple, reading of the bravery of heroes, and the slaying of dragons, and Greek gods fighting, and dying, and never once have to answer where was a glove, or had she fed the chickens, or why was she so troublesome a daughter. It was too much temptation to resist, and she found the views as bewitching as ever, until she recollected that save for the kindness of the Gardiners, or the Collins, or the Bingleys, these would be the views that she would enjoy for the rest of her life, unless the Collins reneged on their promise, and turned the remaining Bennetts out of Longbourn. 

It was not a delightful prospect, and the apple, as she took a bite without observing it, was sour. Being in the tree was no longer romantic, it was slightly sad and pitiful, for a grown woman of twenty and one, and she should disentangle herself from it, and resume adulthood immediately. There were lives to be planned, after all, for without a decent excuse, Elizabeth foresaw a great deal of sitting in drawing rooms and trimming bonnets in her future, and such was not for her. Perhaps she could help Mary, with her Hunsford social justice endeavours. Perhaps, once Jane and Charles had the first of the many children that they were sure to have, she could become the kindly maiden aunt who provided occasional lessons, although knowing Miss Bingley, any Bingley progeny was likely to be educated to within an inch of its life by a professional tutor as soon as it could say the word ‘mama’. Even with the best will in the world, she could not conjure up an imaginary gentleman who would come to woo her at Longbourn and remove her from its limited prospects, for she had finally come to realise that there was but one man in all the world with whom she wanted to spend eternity, and she had told him quite the opposite.

She closed her eyes against the future, and issued a prohibition to herself in relation to the words ‘if only’. There was no good in thinking about what might have been, had she held her tongue and kept an open mind until she had had an opportunity to form a sensible judgement concerning certain persons. She bit into the apple again, deliberately picking the redder side, and was rewarded with less acid. Being by herself would not, she told herself, be so very awful, she had managed it successfully up to now, and there was no reason to suppose that she could not capably do so going forward. 

Only, and here she refrained from a sigh, for there was no point in sighing over something that could not be, as pleasant as it was to sit in a tree and eat an apple by oneself, she had a strong suspicion that it would be more so if she were in his company. He had, it seemed, concealed well his sense of mischief, and it was only too easy now to imagine him climbing the tree, as high as he could, and swinging his feet over the branch with her, and twitting her over her choice of book, today a translation of the Odyssey, with no wine dark sea to be seen. She could only too well imagine him challenging her to an apple seed spitting contest, and laughing when she beat him, without chiding her for impropriety, he had not minded the mud and he would not mind her having fun, not after all the horrors of the last several months. And though he had never done so, she could imagine only too well how he would lift her down from the branch, his hands warm about her waist, and hold her tight, just for a moment, before pressing his mouth gently to hers, gently and then her imagination would go no further. She shivered, and pulled her coat about herself, stepping back down onto the rock. It was not to be, and it would not be, and living in dreams, though pleasant, were hardly a way to get along. The sun was well over the horizon, and gold tinging the grasses, and the house would be waking up, and Miss Elizabeth Bennett should not be still walking the hills.

Only, as she made her way back through the tall grasses, it seemed that she was not the only person walking the hills, for there, examining an apple on one of the wild Bennett trees was the said gentleman of whom she had been thinking, all brown tousled hair, and sweeping black long coat against the morning dew, and quite maskless, and she did not know what to do or say, so she said nothing, and continued to walk, in the hope that inspiration would strike before she arrived. However, this was not the case, and because Mr Darcy, for such it was, was walking with quite equal speed and longer gait, she met him without a clear view as to what it was that she wished to say. There was a minute or two, or perhaps more, where she stood, as did he, without words. He was not quite smiling, but then, neither was she. 

She settled for a short curtsy, and a “Mr Darcy”, for such could offend no one.

Only, it seemed, that it had, for his brow furrowed, and he bit at the corner of his lip. “I have offended you, I take it, to be relegated back to a Mr Darcy. And here I am, trespassing, no doubt on Longbourn land, and that before breakfast, even. Two offences. Tell me, if you are feeling charitable, what I did in the first instance, so that I can assess whether the fault is remediable.”

She laughed, it could not be helped. “There is no fault, sir. It is too early in the morning to remember my own name, let alone what name I should call you. And I am certain that if my parents were aware that you were on Longbourn land, they would insist that you come inside and take breakfast with us. Here,” and she rubbed the second apple briskly on her skirt, and held it out to him. “take this as earnest of the collective Bennett feeling of goodwill towards you.”

He looked quizzically at the apple. “My father warned me about women and apples.”

Elizabeth held the apple steady as she dared. “Oh, sir? And what, pray, was his counsel?”

He stepped slightly closer, and held his hand out, expectant. She dropped the apple into it, grazing the tips of his fingers as she did so. They were cold, and that was the sole reason why she shivered, that and no other. He took a bite, and she could see the juice on his chin. 

“If the woman you love gives you a second chance, you should take it.” He swallowed. “While I am grateful, of course, and sensible of the honour of the collective Bennett feeling of goodwill, in truth, there is one Bennett for whom I care for above all others. I am certain to get the words as atrociously wrong as I did last time, Elizabeth, and what it comes to is this: I love you. Please do me the very great honour of accepting my hand in marriage. But only – only if you wish it. I will not trouble you further if you tell me that you do not.” 

Elizabeth looked at his chin again. There was a drop of juice just below his mouth, and it seemed imperative that it be removed. Her thumb found his chin to be pleasantly rough, and she noted with interest that his eyes slipped close as she wiped it clean, and transferred it to her own mouth, sweeter than the apple she had chosen for herself. 

“Mr Darcy. Fitzwilliam. When one falls in love, or so my sisters tell me, it is quite normal to become a trifle foolish. I can assure you, I am the biggest fool in all of Meryton, nay, let us say England, for I love you quite stupidly. In case I am not making myself plain, let me try again. Whatever words you use, however atrocious, I know and love you too well to do anything other than accept. There. We have managed a conversation without an argument.”

Mr Darcy chuckled, quiet and deep in his throat, and Elizabeth found her hand being taken, and a kiss placed to the back of it, and shivered again. “Then perhaps we should stop talking for a moment or two and preserve this as a happy memory, before anything else happens to interrupt it.”

He did not let her hand go, she noted also with happy delight. They wandered the base of the hill, as Mr Darcy ate his apple, and with some prompting, demonstrated that he could give her a contest if needful with the apple seed spitting, but she had already discarded hers, so her role was limited to watching Mr Darcy gleefully make himself ridiculous for her benefit, a role he took to with great relish, seeking and taking on board many foolish suggestions without a hint of hesitation. 

It is possible that the happy couple might have wandered so for the remainder of the day, were it not that as they approached the orchard, it appeared that the Gardiners, complete with little Johnny and Susan had determined to pick a peck of apples to take on their journey home tomorrow, and Elizabeth, with reluctance, allowed Mr Darcy to release her hand. Mr Darcy greeted Mr Gardiner with real pleasure, although much animated smiling took the place of the handshake Elizabeth sensed would have taken place, and spoke warmly of the fishing at Pemberley, and repeated his offer that perhaps Mr Gardiner might once more spend some happy mornings in quiet frustration, and the rest of the Gardiners explore the grounds of Pemberley, if that would please, and little Johnny and Susan were much delighted, although Mrs Gardiner would keep smiling expressively at Elizabeth, with many a lifted eyebrow. 

At length, the party together made a return to Longbourn. There was music to be heard, and from the tone and occasional stumble, Mary rather than Kitty. There was a cheerful racket of footsteps, up and down stairs, and outbursts of “Mama, have you seen my bonnet,” from Lydia, which caused both Elizabeth and Mr Darcy to smile, and an admonishment from Mr Collins that “bonnets are hardly needful, if one is to remain indoors, and Lydia, I do think that you should remain indoors today, and perhaps speak in a quieter tone,” which did not, and on the front doorstop, there was a Mr Bennett, and he did not look altogether pleased. 

Elizabeth had a strong urge to reach for Mr Darcy’s hand, and hide him behind her. She had been on the dark side of Mr Bennett’s reprimands, when he determined to finally give one, to know that he spoke often more widely and more vehemently than he ought. Soap bubbles of happiness, like this morning, need care to be preserved, and Mr Bennett had the look of one who would poke with a stick, just to see the pop. However, she did not. She had a feeling that neither man would be happy if she were to do so.

“Mr Bennett,” said the one by her side. “May I solicit for an audience? I have a particular question I need must ask.” 

Mr Bennett folded his arms, and narrowed his eyes at them both. Elizabeth sighed. It was going to be one of those mornings. 

“Papa,” said she. “Unless you have any particular reason against it, and Mama will be most upset with you if you do, I am sure, please give your consent to our union. We are most determined on marriage, but it would be nice if we had your approval.”

Mr Bennett was almost bodily removed from the doorway, as Mrs Bennett, in all her most beribboned morning after the night before glory, burst forth. “Elizabeth! Are you serious? Mr Bennett, she is serious. Are you? This is not a jape, is it, for my poor nerves will not stand for it, indeed they will not, you know very well better than to play tricks on your poor mama, after the months of torment you girls have put me through, I do declare. Of course Mr Bennett approves, do you not, my dear? Oh, and Mr Darcy, I am most delighted to welcome you to the family, I wish you every happiness, to be sure, and we already owe you so many gratitudes for our poor Lydia, and now you are to wed my Lizzy, it is almost too much!”

Elizabeth whispered to Mr Darcy. “Is it too much? Have you changed your mind yet, sir? I am certain that there are plenty of accomplished women in England, with families filled with decorum and tact.”

“Ah,” said Mr Darcy, as Mrs Bennett continued, and Mr Bennett watched on, “but all of those families are missing one vital ingredient.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him.

“You,” said Mr Darcy. Had her parents not been there, and the small children coming up the drive behind, Mr Darcy would have found himself roundly kissed, sticky apple juice and all, but instead, he found himself the recipient of a smile that promised a great many things, once they should be wed, and he clasped his beloved’s hand most ardently, causing Mr Bennett to clear his throat.  
At length, Mr Darcy did insist on a formal audience with Mr Bennett, conducted behind shut doors, but both emerged unscathed. Mrs Bennett reluctantly agreed to give up her plans for a special licence, and conceded that things might proceed in the normal fashion, and all the proprieties should be observed. 

Thereupon, Mr Darcy found himself very rapidly in the kitchen and being treated to Elizabeth Bennett’s best version of buttered toast, toasted herself, to her own specifications, and with the plum jam that she herself had made, and slightly scorched, which the gentleman declared added to the complexity of its flavours, with Elizabeth sitting beside him, and allowing all manner of liberties in the way of bites of her own lightly buttered toast with honey. All in all, Mr Darcy thought that he was a very lucky person indeed, and Elizabeth knew herself to be so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my golly golly gosh. I think we are substantively done and dusted with only a little smackerel of an epilogue to go.  
> Thanks all for your encouragement- this wouldn’t be here without it!


	40. Chapter 40, a letter from Pemberley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Pemberley, in which events are as concluded as they are going to be

May 23rd, 1812

Dear Aunt Frances

I trust that my uncle, and little Johnny and Susan are in the pink of health, and assure you that I and Will and Georgiana are very much so. It is a relief, to have the ‘virus quelled, to no longer fear the simplest of interactions with one’s friends and neighbours, but I confess, aunt, that I still wear the mask when we venture further forth than Keynton. I laugh it off with jovial comparisons to my mother and her ‘poor nerves’, but in truth, the fear is still there. This last little while of happiness seems too good to be true, since we all learnt how easily life can be lost, and how precarious a thing normality is, and one expects, in the back of one’s head, that any day, another ‘virus or calamity or other will rear its ugly head to be dealt with. Best then, as Will says, to enjoy the soap bubble before it bursts, as once it is gone, it is gone forever. This is usually, mind you, as we wash the hounds in the rear gardens, who enjoy the attention in the heat but are much less co-operative in the cold. But I have not written to you to bemoan fate, or even to dull you with the particularities of dog washing, and I will come to my point soon enough, fear not, it is neither calamitous nor of great import, or I wager my mother would have written to you of it already.

Do give my love to Lydia, for I understand she is still visiting with you. I trust that my uncle is putting her to good work with the ledger books, for she always had a sensible head for numbers, and I suspect that if she were allowed the opportunity, and had a little encouragement in that department, ribbons and furbelows would be quite a thing of the past, and she would prove an extremely capable woman of business, as long as no one tells my father. 

I wonder too if you have seen Jane in the Bingley peregrinations, for I understand that they were to call through London in their latest trips to the mills. They have promised to come to us in June, but I had hoped to hear from her before then. There are two possible explanations here, of course, the first being that she and Charles are simply too busy to put pen to paper, which is likely the case, with the repurposing of the mills from protective equipment back to less life preserving fabrics for curtains, and upholstery, and gowns, and the like, but the second is also a contender, that she has in fact written, but addressed it so ill that the letter is in the hands of some poor postal clerk, still puzzling out whether that letter is a B or a P or some other fabrication altogether. Jane was ever more interested in people than in her lettering, and I understand that she is much concerned, as is Mr Bingley, to ensure that the mills retain enough business to ensure that their people are still able to be fully employed. As you will know, there has been much to do in the way in which certain of the factories have been mechanised, and with the dreadful virus impacting further on capacity to work, it is very difficult to see a path forward for some industries. I do understand from my mother that the Hursts, once travel restrictions were lifted, immediately departed England for India to resume Mr Hurst’s silk trade, and part of me wishes that I could see their stories come to life alongside them both, but then the other part reminds me that Mr Hurst was a card fiend, and Mrs Hurst had a tendency towards aspirational superiority and sneered at my buttered toast, so there is that. She says too that Miss Bingley and Miss Lucas, with the Bingley’s permission of course, intend to plant out Netherfield’s north meadows with grape vines, which will be most diverting and unusual, but the weather was particularly warm last year, so perhaps it is not as odd as it sounds, for them, and has the added bonus that Miss Bingley is no longer as removed from Meryton society as once she was, needing to consult with Sir Lucas in regards to local workers, and soil management, and so on . I do wish I could observe that for myself.

My parents’ visit last month was as I had anticipated. Will took several long relieving walks, despite the inclement weather, and developed a sudden fancy that he needed to inspect the fences and hedgerows, which have stood, I would wager, for many a year without him doing so, but I cannot hold a grudge against him for doing so, for my parents were as ever, very much themselves. My father found Will’s family library of such interest that we did not see him at all for the week, other than at meal times. My mother told Georgiana that she needed to make more of herself, or no man would ever take interest in her, and then in the next breath contradicted that statement, with mention of Georgiana’s dowry, and told her she could be as plain and disagreeable as Mr Brown’s cows, if she chuse. I found a task for Georgiana for the rest of the day in the other wing of the house, and bore the brunt of my mother’s musings solo for the remainder. No, Will and I are not expecting a happy event at the moment. No, I did not intend to redecorate the drawing room, and I did not wish to follow Mary’s example in commissioning a new portrait of my husband. No, I did not have any questions for her in relation to managing a household, although on that I relented and allowed her to tell me all about selecting Mrs Hill when my mother was but a newly wed, and Mrs Hill had lost her husband, and the virtues of forming a friendship with one’s servants, for under all her bluster and talk, my mother has a heart of gold, and dearly cares for us all, including Mrs Hill, and that is, I know, what drives her behaviour. It is just, aunt, between you and me, exhausting at times. 

I did require Will to stay indoors the day that Lady Catherine brought Kitty to call, which co-incided with the visit from my parents. There was a driving tour, I understand, that they were undertaking, in preparation for their visit to the continent, now that such is possible again, and the French seemed to have calmed themselves sufficiently. While I do, of course, love and admire my mother, and father, and have the greatest respect for Lady Catherine, and gratitude for the kindness that she continues to show to Kitty, it was not the most convivial afternoon. First, there was the topic of Mary and Mr Collins, which never fails but to be awkward. I must understand from my mother that Lady Catherine overstates the case, and that Mary has done her best to be receptive to her suggestions concerning the charitable society she operates now, which has done great works, but I also understand from Lady Catherine that Mary is most obstinate concerning the curriculum of the school that Mary has founded for the children of the village, who cannot afford governesses and tutors, and will not allow her to express any views concerning the matter. It is best, at such a remove, to nod my head to both, for it is not something that I can assist them to resolve at such a distance, and they must muddle it out for themselves. Although it does seem to me that it is very likely the case that both are in the right and the wrong, for Mary will know better than Lady Catherine what the children require, and Lady Catherine will have more knowledge of the village, given her longer relationship and stewardship of the same. However, I will not meddle, for Pemberley keeps us busy enough as it is. 

Without my teasing interference in the conversation, my mother was alternately fawningly admiring of Lady Catherine, from her choice of footwear to the name that she had given one of the horses, and argumentative, on topics as diverse as whether women should have the right to own property or vote, on which they ultimately agreed was correct, to the right way in which to slice cucumber sandwiches, my mother electing for diagonals, Lady Catherine for squared quarters which Will resolved by eating the remainder of the platter, which he managed with his trade mark straight face and raised eyebrow, so that none but Georgiana and me would know how amused he was by the situation. I do so enjoy being married to him.

I understand that directly after visiting us, Lady Catherine, with Kitty in tow, were to the seaside, to investigate whether fossils might, as the papers have been reporting, be found by anyway with sufficient will, of which they both certainly are possessed. It is certainly a wonder to have found in this sister such an investigative mind, where previously my parents thought only to have her wed, at best, and a useful pair of hands in their old age, at worst, for she is certainly thriving, I should not have known her as the same sister who pulled apart a bonnet rather than let Lydia have it. But that is unkind, for we are all quite changed now, at least on the outsides, from where and who we were not 18 months prior, although on the inside I dare say we are much as ever ourselves as we were then. 

Which brings me to the point of my letter, having wandered far and wide: we are beginning to wonder ourselves, whether Pemberley and Lambton have lost their charm for you, for it has been many a long month since we have seen you in our parts, and you are soundly missed. You did promise to not be a stranger, and weather can no longer furnish an excuse. Uncle must come and visit with his trading partners, but more importantly, he must come and assist Will in bothering the trout in the stream, which are growing more plentiful by the minute. Georgiana needs the company of someone with as much verve and vigour as Lydia, and I am afraid that love her as we do, we cannot quite bridge that gap. Georgiana has a horse picked out already for my youngest sister, and I have ensured that it is calm enough not to take fright at loud exclamations, at the level that Lydia can deliver, picture me in the stable, aunt, trying to affright a horse with shouting and you will have the right of it. It is not the usual way in which I spend my days.

I will not list over the ways in which I am happier now than ever before, and how I think I make Will so, for there is nothing more tedious than listening to lovers explain to one how their love is brighter, or deeper than ever anyone loved in the history of the world, as I know from the letters from the Collins. Instead I will offer you my hearty thanks for being born in Lambton, marrying my uncle, and all the events that led to my life here with Will as a Darcy in which you had even the smallest of hands, and confirm once again, that I believe myself to be the happiest and luckiest of all the Bennett sisters who ever lived.

Do come to visit us, we are quite at your disposal

Elizabeth Darcy  
Pemberley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is a wrap. I never thought to find myself writing in the Jane Austen universe, but life throws us all curveballs, and you have to give a swing at whate'er comes your way, or what's the point? Life's for living and is worth swallowing some pride to live fully, is Will Darcy's view by the end of this, and I'd like to think it's mine also. 
> 
> Speaking of which, there were notable times when writing this story where the characters did insist on misbehaving, in ways that did not fit in a Regency universe, despite the author's best intentions - and were sternly reprimanded and put back on track for the purpose of plot contrivance. Those misbehavings may be collected separately, clearly labelled with warnings where needed, and reader discretion advised. A blooper reel, if you will. We shall see.
> 
> But back to my chief point: I hope you and your families and friends stay well and safe as possible, and thank you all for coming along on this journey with me, your kudos, your comments, your bookmarks and subscriptions - it's helped to not feel quite so alone in these strange times.


End file.
